Chapter Text
Galinda Upland has never been anything other than her mothers’ pride and joy.
She’s known this from the moment of her blessed birth. It’s a fact as true as the sun rising in the east; as sure as the Emerald City is green. She is the stars in their sky and the apple of their eye. Their dearest, darlingest daughter, born of magic and medicine, with all her Momsie’s petite frame and beautiful cascade of blonde curls and all her Momsicle’s dimples and dark eyes, in reverent possession of every piece of their hopes and love and dreams.
(And just as beloved by her nanny. Her third mother, for all intents and purposes. Her first word was even Ama, she’s told—something Momsie and Momsicle still haven’t let her live down.)
Which is why when Elphaba tells her, quiet and reserved in their room that same night they get home from the Ozdust, “My father hates me,” Galinda gasps in shock and horror.
“He has a good reason,” Elphaba tells her, but Galinda couldn’t possibly grasp it. There’s no reason, she thinks, that a parent could, or should, ever hate their child. The parents of murderers still love their monstrous children. And as Elphaba goes on to explain, Galinda’s conviction only doubles down. To lay all his grief and blame for a tragedy he caused on a child of only around two, a child left motherless—
It’s unspeakable, really. Horrendible.
Something Galinda, with her abundance of mothers, can hardly bear to consider.
“That may be your secret, Elphaba,” Galinda says fiercely, “but that doesn’t make it true.”
Over the following weeks and months, Galinda stitches together a slow and distressing tapestry of the Thropp sisters’ upbringing from the both of them.
“I suppose he can be a bit overbearing,” Nessarose admits with a blush over lunch one day, to the tune of a wry twist of her sister’s lips.
“You can just say he treats you like a baby,” Elphaba says, an icy shard of resentment wedged somewhere in the sound of her voice. Nessa glances down at her lap, as though she’s just been chastised. “What? It’s true. He acts like you’re not capable of anything, Nessa.”
“That’s not fair. He just worries about me,” Nessa mumbles. “He does his best, Elphaba. And maybe it’s easier for you to forget than me, but he does happen to be our only father.”
Something tense and unpleasant fizzles in the air between the two sisters, and Galinda’s eyes dart back and forth, assessing. Fiyero and Boq, too, seem to be trying to compute something. Under the table, Galinda links her pinky with Elphaba’s, who exhales in a sudden huff. She gears up to say something Galinda fears might be uncomfortable for the rest of them to hear—
And the next moment, Pfannee and Shenshen take up the last two seats at their table, already good-naturedly bickering about whether or not that cute bespectacled girl with the purple bob is sleeping with that one hot Munchkin boy in Dillamond’s seminar (because did everyone see the way they were all over each other at the Ozdust this past weekend? It was obscene! But also: wasn’t she already dating that tall blonde boy on the roller skating team?) and effectively ending this line of conversation. Thank Oz. Galinda threads her fingers more substantially through Elphaba’s and gives her hand a tight squeeze before letting her go so they can both eat.
Even so, the picture becomes clearer: one daughter favored and doted upon, but treated like a helpless child even on the cusp of her adulthood and never afforded a shred of faith or independence; the other tolerated and ignored on the best of days and actively maligned on the worst, kept like a shameful secret. A small, possessive man with fists clasped tight around the both of them; a sore spot between sisters keeping them from loving one another fully.
Two of her dearest friends in all the world. Well, okay: her dearest, and then her dearest’s dearest sister. Which makes her, according to the transitive property of dearness, also quite dear to Galinda.
Suffice to say, by the time Parents’ Day rolls around at Shiz, Galinda already has a pretty firm opinion on the Governor of Munchkinland.
But her first thought when she wakes up on that utterly lovely morning is not of him. It’s this:
My moms are on their way!
She twirls through the room and finds herself getting ready all out of order:
Mascara first, then half her hair out of its rollers. Shoes, then dress, then a different dress when she thinks she maybe hates the first one, then the second half of her makeup. She hums high and nervous to herself as she flits through the room, and she swishes her practice wand around a few times for good measure.
Across the room, Elphaba groans from beneath her comforter, which she’s pulled up over her head, leaving only a handful of slim braids poking out. Her silk scarf has fallen off during the night. Galinda feels so very fond, and so very excited. Her heels clack-clack-clack on their hardwood floor as she flounces over to Elphie and pulls the covers off her.
Elphaba groans again in more pointed complaint. “I was sleeping,” she whines.
“And now you’re no-ot,” Galinda trills, yanking on Elphaba’s hands and pulling her up to a seated position. “C’mon, up, up, up! Today’s a beautiful day! You finally get to meet my mo-o-oms!” She sings the word moms all high and operatic.
And Galinda has been so, so, so excited to introduce Elphie to her moms that she’d completely, utterly forgotten that Parents’ Day also means Elphie will have to deal with her father. That is, until Elphaba’s face falls, the warmth in her eyes going shuttered, and she starts to rub the bridge of her nose. Then Galinda thinks, oh, right.
“Elphie,” Galinda lowers her voice, scooching closer to Elphaba on her mattress, and takes both of Elphie’s hands, “you don’t even have to see him if you don’t want to. You’re perfectly welcome to spend all weekend with me and my moms, if you’d like. They love you already. I write to them every week, and I’ve told them all about you—”
“Of course I have to see him,” Elphaba cuts her off—not unkindly, but still tense and abrupt. “He’s my father, and he’s come all the way here. I have to see him.”
Galinda wants to hit her with a So what? But Elphaba already looks so exhausted and she’s only just woken up, and she’s shrinking into herself, and Galinda doesn’t know how to make this better. It’s something she, perhaps, can’t make better, which she hates. She chews on the inside of her cheek, trying to think of a way forward.
“Well, what if I come see him with you?” she suggests.
Elphaba’s brows draw together. “ What? ”
“You, me, and Nessa—we’ll take him out for lunch together or something. And with me there, he most certainly won’t…” Galinda trails off.
For all that she and Elphaba have discussed their respective pasts, they’ve never really spoken the quiet part out loud with regards to Elphie’s dad.
Luckily, Elphaba doesn’t make her finish the sentence. The meaning lies inferred between them, and Elphaba smiles softly, squeezes Galinda’s hands. She lifts one to Galinda’s hair.
“What about your moms?” Elphie asks warmly, plucking one of the remaining rollers from her golden locks. Galinda preens under the attention, heart kicking.
“Pfft. They’re here all weekend. I can do one measly little lunch with you and your family. They’ll probably be gratitudinous to get a break from me, to be honest,” Galinda lies. She knows her moms will soak up any and every second they get with their baby. “It’ll give them a chance to do some shopping. And buy some birthday gifts for me without spoiling the surprise.” And that is actually true, even though her birthday is still months out. Elphaba plucks another roller from Galinda’s hair. “Plus, after you’ve seen your father, then you’re free to spend the rest of the weekend with me and my moms. It’s perfect!”
Elphaba sighs shakily, and her lips twist sideways as she thinks. Galinda tries to be patient, but the way she fidgets with Elphie’s hand gives her away, and Elphaba’s face cracks into a grin.
“You’re sure they wouldn’t mind…?” Elphaba gestures slightly to herself. “I would hate to intrude on your family time. And I imagine they’re not eager to share you.”
“They want to get to know you,” Galinda insists again. “Seriously, Elphie.” She affects an imitation of her Momsicle’s voice: “We can’t wait to meet the wonderful girl our darling daughter loves so dearly, and to thank her for making our baby’s first year at Shiz so warmly welcoming. That’s what my Momsicle said. I can show you the letter if you don’t believe me.”
A jade flush paints Elphaba’s emerald cheeks.
The sun peeks over one of the buildings across their quad, spilling in through their window, and Galinda’s in a rush all over again, pulling the straggling remainder of the curlers out of her hair and tossing them to the ground.
“Come on, Elphie, we’re going to miss them if you don’t get up!” She tugs Elphaba out of bed, and Elphie laughs—Galinda’s favorite sound—and protests:
“Alright, alright, I’m up! Let me get ready.”
Not twenty clock-ticks later finds them down at the docks, where some students’ families are already starting to arrive. Boq is there, and his parents (he’s the spitting image of his mother!), and his five younger siblings (who are also all the spitting image of their mother). He raises his eyebrows and smiles sweetly at Elphaba and Galinda, striding hand-in-hand down the dock, but is clearly too busy herding his expansive family along towards the central quad to stop and chat.
The pack of ginger brats all give Elphaba strange, aversive glances and a wide berth, but they seem to follow Boq’s cue and move on when he greets her with nothing but kind familiarity. Still, Galinda’s not overly impressed.
Elphaba wears her hair in a single tight braid, but she’s allowed Galinda to thread some tiny Quox-blossoms through it. She’s got on her best white blouse and a long black skirt and a pinstriped vest, glasses on her nose and beat-up leather messenger bag across her body, and she looks, Galinda thinks, like a vision of herself. Like if someone asked Galinda to close her eyes and picture Elphaba Thropp, this is exactly what she’d see behind her lids. The fingers of Elphie’s free hand fiddle with the strap of her bag, and Galinda can tell she’s nervous, so she squeezes the hand she’s got in her grasp and reminds her quietly, “They already love you.”
Elphaba casts Galinda a sideways glance that’s at once thankful and dubious, but Galinda isn’t given a chance to interrogate that look or reassure Elphaba further, because her eyes land on the next boat pulling up to the dock, and—
“Momsie!” she screams, dropping Elphaba’s hand and sprinting as fast as her high-heeled feet can take her.
Her Momsie catches her in her arms, like she always has, like she always will, and holds Galinda close against her heart.
“Oh, darling,” her Momsie coos, stroking Galinda’s hair. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed hearing your sweet voice.”
Her Momsie lets her go, and just beside her is her Momsicle—tall, dark-haired, and grinning. She lifts Galinda off the ground and twirls her in a gentle arc before setting her lightly back on her feet, then pulls back to look at her. One hand cups Galinda’s chin.
“You look…” she says proudly, “very collegiate. I’m so proud of you,” and Galinda beams.
“And you!” Galinda’s Momsie leans around Galinda, and Galinda turns. Elphaba hangs back about ten or twenty paces, nervously watching the whole reunion from a safe distance. She shifts from foot to foot, fingers tapping at the strap of her bag, and Momsie repeats, “Yes, you. Get your precious green tush over here right this instant.”
Elphaba approaches nervously, with all the grace and wide eyes of a startled fawn, and as soon as she’s within striking distance, Galinda reaches for her hand. Elphaba takes it gratefully, and Galinda goes warm and proud.
“Why, Galinda, she’s cute as a button! You said she was pretty, but you never mentioned she was this darling,” Momsie says, taking Elphaba’s face between her hands and turning her head this way and that to get a better look at her. Elphaba’s hand tightens involuntarily around Galinda’s, and Galinda’s face goes from warm to hot for reasons she’s suddenly mute to articulate.
“Dearest, let the poor thing go,” Momsicle says, taking her wife’s hands back. Then, to Elphaba: “You must be the famous Elphie we’ve heard so much about. It’s very nice to finally meet Galinda’s favorite roommate.”
“Her—her only roommate. It was supposed to be a private suite, I’m told,” Elphie stammers, a little flushed. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. and—and Mrs. Upland.”
“Please, darling, call me Larena,” Momsicle says. “Mrs. Upland makes me sound old and married.”
“You are old and married,” Galinda mutters under her breath, coaxing a wayward little smirk out of Elphie.
“And you may as well just call me Momsie, too,” Momsie says with a wink and a grin, “for how close it sounds like you and my daughter have gotten.”
“Momsie,” Galinda groans.
“I mean it,” Momsie insists. “Any girl our daughter loves is a girl we love. But you call me whatever you like, Miss Elphie.”
From down the dock, a voice calls: “Elphaba!”
Galinda and Elphaba both turn to see Nessa wheeling herself towards them, a bright flush on her face and a small draw to her brow. She’s got the shiniest, sparkliest bejeweled shoes Galinda’s ever seen in her life on her feet. They put Galinda’s shoe closet, frankly, to shame.
“Excuse me,” Elphaba tells them all, worming her hand out of Galinda’s. Galinda feels the absence of it, the sudden coolness, and flexes her fingers against the air. “This is my sister, Nessarose.”
Nessa has reached them now, and Elphaba takes a step back to stand beside her.
“Nessa, these are Galinda’s parents,” Elphaba says politely.
“How do you do?” Nessa says, shaking both of their hands politely. “Elphaba, Father’s boat is set to arrive any minute now. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be there to greet him with me—”
Elphaba looks down, guilty, then up into Galinda’s eyes. There’s a question in her face, but Galinda has no idea at all what the answer might be.
“Go,” Galinda tells her. “We’ll meet up again later. And—lunch! I’ll join you both for lunch.”
Elphaba nods, curt and tight, and steps behind Nessa’s chair to push her towards the end of the dock. As they depart, Galinda overhears them bickering in low voices.
“Elphaba, let go of me, I can do it myself —”
“—I know you can, but Father will have a conniption if he thinks I’m not helping you.”
“So pretend to help, don’t make me feel like I’m actually useless.”
Elphaba grunts and lets go of Nessa’s chair, settling for just walking behind her.
A beat of quiet, then Momsie says softly, “What lovely girls.”
Galinda’s quite inclined to agree.
And then Galinda’s mothers wrap an arm around her on each side, and Galinda is warm and safe and surrounded, and she smiles and walks them towards the quad.
“How's Ama Clutch?” she asks.
“Wonderful, dear,” Momsie says. “Her days have gotten a lot easier, but a lot emptier without you there.”
“She misses you terribly, and she sends her regards,” Momsicle adds.
“Oh, I miss her!”
At the top of the stairs up to the quad, she turns back to look for Elphie one more time. Nessa's shoes catch and refract the light, even from a distance. Elphie and Nessa wait together at the edge of the dock, staring out at the water. Neither of them look like they’re talking, and both look tense.
Galinda’s heart gives a little pull, and she squeezes her moms a little closer.
She manages to shake her mothers by early afternoon, after she’s given them a tour of the school and then of the town and regaled them with just enough tales of mild mischief to tide them over. When they part, her moms tell her they’re perfectly happy to entertain themselves with shopping for the next few hours (called it!) but that they intend to see her for dinner, where they’ve made reservations in town.
“For four, dear,” Momsie tells her, eyes sparkling. “Just in case you wanted to bring a special certain someone your dear mothers might want to get to know… Someone you may have mentioned in a letter or two…”
Galinda nods dutifully. “Oh, I will. I will, I will. She’ll be thrillified.”
“She?” Momsicle whispers to Momsie, who just winks. But Galinda is already skipping away, waving over her shoulder.
“Bye, Momsie! Bye, Momsicle! Don’t have too much fun without me! See you for dinner!”
She dodges and weaves through the crowded streets of Shiz and the crowded walkways of the campus. She briefly spots Fiyero, and he looks so unlike himself she almost doesn’t recognize her own boyfriend at first: standing straight and stiff and tall like a soldier, moving more like royalty and less like a prince for the first time ever. He’s with the King and Queen of Winkie Country, and he throws Galinda a cheeky wink as she passes by, but everything else about his posture and expression tells her not to approach.
She finds Elphaba and Nessarose and their father through the shifting sea of students and families, but the only one whose face is visible to her at first is their father.
He’s no prize, Munchkinland’s Governor, is the first thing she thinks. Wiry, graying facial hair, short stature, wearing an absurdified little top hat—a top hat with the stupidest little waist in it (and to think, she had the nerve to call her Granny’s hats hideodious once). In fact, Galinda is momentarily astonished that a man who looks like that managed to produce two daughters so captivatingly beautiful as Elphaba and Nessarose Thropp.
Their mother must have been astoundifying, Galinda thinks.
As Galinda approaches, she catches onto their conversation.
“…this little friend of yours is any later, Elphaba, we’re leaving without her,” their father says. “Disrespectful of my time to keep us waiting like this—”
“Father, I’m friends with Galinda, too,” Nessa insists. “It’s no disrespect, I promise.” (Maybe a little, Galinda thinks.) “She’s one of the kindest students at this school—everybody loves her, I promise you will, too.”
“It’s true,” Elphaba says, and Galinda thinks she hears a smidge of a proud smile in her voice, “she’s the loveliest,” and then she sneaks up on Elphie and slots their hands together.
Elphaba jumps in surprise, and then smiles.
“You made it,” she says softly.
“I promised,” Galinda says, then turns her gaze on that man.
She’s trying to be good, she’d swear it on her Momsie’s life. But she sees both Elphaba and Nessarose wince out of the corner of her eye, and the man himself seems a little intimidated, a little taken aback. Good.
“Mr. Thropp, so nice to meet you. I’m sorry I’m late, my parents just couldn’t bear to part any sooner, after so long apart. As I’ll bet you understand. I’m sure you’ve missed Elphaba and Nessa here terrificably. My name is Galinda Upland.” She holds out a stiff hand for him to shake—the one that’s not tangled through Elphie’s. He takes it like he’s suspicious. “Of the Upper Uplands,” she clarifies, a little smug, and grips his hand hard enough to hurt.
“It’s—it’s Governor Thropp,” he corrects, but his stammer shows his hand. Galinda narrows her eyes, tips her head to the side. Appraising.
“Governor Thropp,” she repeats, and the way she says it must absolutely sting because he breaks eye contact, takes his hand back and wipes it on his jacket but won’t look at her again, and Elphaba gives her hand something of a warning tug.
“Well, now that we’re all here,” he says, sounding a little flustered, “we should probably get a move on.”
He insists on pushing Nessarose’s chair for her for the walk into town, taking off ahead of Elphie and Galinda, and Nessa silently allows it. Gone is the fiercely independent young woman that Galinda has come to know, and it makes her feel a little queasy.
Elphaba squeezes Galinda’s hand three times as they walk, and Galinda responds with two little pulses of her own. Their arms swing gently between them. Elphie leans close to Galinda and whispers in her ear, “Be nice.”
“I’ve been perfectly nice so far,” Galinda huffs in reply, shivering at the feel of Elphie's breath on her neck. “I could’ve been far less nice.” And Elphaba squeezes her hand again.
“You forget I know you,” Elphie teases.
“So you know how not nice I could be.”
“Oh, intimately,” Elphaba says, just a little cutting, and Galinda takes it. She earned that one. But Elphaba nudges their shoulders together fondly, and Galinda gives her the most contrite smile she can muster.
Nessarose glances over her shoulder at the pair of them.
“Elphaba, you and your friend could at least try to include Nessa in your gossipy little conversation,” says Governor Thropp, clearly feeling emboldened with his back to the two of them.
Nessa blushes a poppy shade of red and turns back ahead. “They’re fine, Father.”
“Perhaps if you and Nessa walked at our pace, we could all four have a conversation,” Galinda retorts pointily, “but I’m afraid I can’t move much faster in these shoes. Governor Thropp.”
“Galinda,” Elphaba hisses under her breath, squeezing her hand in a not-so-nice way this time. Still, the Governor stops in his tracks, and turns to wait for Elphaba and Galinda to catch up (rather tartly, Galinda thinks). She offers him her most practiced, platitudinous, close-lipped smile, and he gives her a tight smile in return.
They walk three-across, with the Governor pushing Nessa ahead of him, the rest of the way into town. Nobody says a word, awkwardness stifling any hope of continued camaraderie, but Elphaba keeps hanging onto Galinda’s hand, which is good enough for Galinda.
They wind up seated on the patio of a little cafe. The window boxes burst with multicolored blooms, and Galinda finds herself debating which ones would look best tucked behind Elphie’s ear if she were to steal one. Elphie and flowers, she thinks, are a match made in heaven. Elphie always insists she clashes with bright colors, but Galinda has yet to meet a flower that doesn’t make her look ethereal.
She and Elphaba are sitting side-by-side, and Galinda finds herself directly across from the Governor himself. She gives him another hard, empty little smile, and he does the same in return. Still, only looking at his menu does he seem to find the courage to actually address her:
“So, Miss Galinda, it sounds like you’ve made quite the good impression on my darling daughter.”
“Which one?” she replies, saccharine sweetness. She leaves a beat of space to let him squirm before she continues, “I’d consider both of them to be quite dear friends of mine. You know, Nessarose is truly one of the most impressifying people I’ve ever met. How she manages to stay on top of such a daunting courseload and be the life of every party is beyond me.” Nessa smiles down at her lap and blushes. “And Elphie—well.” Galinda shoots a proud sideways look at her roommate, who’s determinedly looking away. So Galinda reaches for her hand again, and Elphie meets her gaze—eyes so impossibly green-and-gold in the sunlight. “She’s the best roommate I could’ve ever asked for. And I definitively didn’t ask for a roommate. I was supposed to have a private suite, you know.”
She turns back to the Governor. He glances up at her, then to Elphie and then to Nessa. When his gaze lands back on her again, it’s wary and uncertain—like he’s not sure what to make of this creature who’s so openly affectionate with his daughters, like he’s not sure how to categorize her if she likes them both and both of them like her.
“Elphie,” he repeats. A corner of his mouth ticks up, like he finds something amusing. “She really lets you call her that?”
“It’s just a nickname,” Galinda says, brow drawing together in confusion.
The Governor laughs, like it’s funny. Elphaba looks away again, the tips of her ears turning that deep jade color she gets when she blushes.
“What?” Galinda asks.
“She’s just—never struck me as much of a nickname girl. I’m not sure she’s ever really had one. I figured she’d find something like that undignified,” the Governor says. “Elphie. Do you actually like being called that, Elphaba? It makes you sound silly.”
“Well…” Elphaba’s eyes slide to Galinda.
“Do you?” Galinda repeats, softer, worried suddenly. She’ll stop with the Elphie business immediately if Elphaba says no right now.
“It does sound a little bit perky, and I have told you that,” Elphaba says, speaking directly to Galinda. She’s got one of those teeny smiles she tucks away in the left corner of her lips, a small thing that always spells amusement. “But it’s sweet. I do like it.” Oh, thank Oz, what a relief. Galinda did not want to stop with the Elphie business. And now Galinda has license to feel a little offended by the man, which is an opportunity she relishes. Elphaba faces her father again. “Besides, Galinda’s the only one who ever calls me that. It’s not like all of Shiz is running around calling me Elphie Thropp.”
“Good,” the Governor murmurs offhand, just as the waitress arrives to take their order.
“So, tell me, then, Miss Galinda,” Governor Thropp goes on, “what exactly do you study here at dear old Shiz?”
“Father, I’ve told you in my letters—” Elphaba begins.
“I’m making conversation, Elphaba,” he cuts her off, a little harsh, but with a tight smile on his face as though it might soften the cruelty. Elphaba ducks her head. Galinda squeezes, squeezes, squeezes her hand.
“It’s my intention to major in sorcery,” Galinda says, “although in our sorcery seminar, Elphie’s far and away the better student. And definitely our professor’s favorite.”
“Well, you started out a few weeks behind me,” Elphie says charitably, as though it makes a shred of difference when it comes to the gulf between their levels of natural talent. She does not even address the favoritism charge, which is merciful.
“I’m sure you’ll be all caught up with her in no time,” the Governor says, dismissing Elphie and hustling the conversation along in one fell swoop. “And what do your parents do?”
“They’re both sorceresses,” Galinda explains. “Which is why—”
“And I understand why you and Elphaba must have to spend time together,” he says, interrupting, “but what drew you to become friends with my sweet Nessarose?”
She’s Elphaba’s sister, Galinda thinks. That’s kind of the long and short of it. She stammers, “Nessa? Well, she—”
“Galinda’s the one who set me up with my boyfriend, Father!” Nessa interjects excitedly.
“Boyfriend?” the Governor asks, turning to her.
“His name is Boq,” Nessa says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “He’s the most adorable little Munchkin boy, with the cutest, curliest hair! Oh, you’d just love him, Father.”
“Boyfriend?” he asks again.
Nessa falters. “Well—I’ve been meaning to tell you about him.”
“You have a boyfriend?” he repeats for a third time.
“What? You don’t believe a boy could genuinely want to date Nessa?” Elphaba bristles. “Is she that unusual? That impossible to love?”
“Elphaba, don’t,” Nessa warns.
“Don’t you speak about your sister like that,” the Governor scolds Elphaba.
“Father,” Nessa grabs his arm.
“She’s eighteen, she’s a grown girl, I just don’t understand the surprise. It seems a little insulting,” Elphaba retorts.
“I’m not insulted,” Nessa begs, “Elphaba, please.”
“Forgive me, this is just the first I’m hearing of some boyfriend,” the Governor spits out. “My little girl is very precious to me.”
Galinda pulls Elphie’s hand into her lap, clasped now between both of hers. She runs her fingers along the inside of Elphie’s wrist, hoping to convey some sense of calm.
A horrific beat of silence falls over the table, and Galinda breaks it with:
“Yes, well Biq—Boq—is a lovely little fellow. Charming, sweet. He and Nessarose make just the darlingest pair, if I might say so myself. I should know, it’s why I matched them up.”
“Hm,” is all he says as the food and drinks arrive.
Awkward silence settles back in as they all eat, itching under Galinda’s skin. She and the Governor trade glances across the table, but neither one is willing to concede their little stalemate.
Finally, Nessa breaks the quiet again.
“Thank you for treating us all to lunch, Father,” she says. “This really is quite nice.”
“Well, of course! Anything for my sweet baby girl,” he says, showing real bright fondness for the first time since Galinda’s met him. He squeezes Nessa’s shoulder, beaming with pride.
“And thank you,” Elphaba chimes in, “for allowing us to bring a friend along.”
His expression cools, regarding his elder daughter. He returns his warm attention to Nessarose as he answers Elphaba, “I’m eager to meet anyone who’s helped my little one feel safe and welcome so far away from home.”
Elphie’s eyes cast down towards the tabletop, a little frown now tucked away in the corners of her mouth where that amused smile just was. She’s good at that, Galinda thinks—hiding those little expressions away where they’re hard to spot. Too good.
“Even if it’s to—set her up with boys,” the Governor mumbles, “rather than to help her with her more—studious pursuits.”
“Galinda’s very studious,” Elphaba says with a bitter edge, equally quiet.
“Well, now, let’s not exaggerate, darling,” Galinda teases. “I’d say I’m just studious enough.”
It gets a little miniscule hint of a smile out of Elphie, but that’s enough for Galinda right now. As long as she’s not pouting like that.
“And Nessarose needs no help with her studious pursuits,” Galinda goes on, raising her voice a bit. “She’s entirely capable. In fact, the only other person I know who’s as studious as she is is… well, Elphie, I suppose.”
Governor Thropp gives her another tight smile across the table. “No need to try and flatter me, Miss Upland. I know what my girls are like.”
And Galinda’s good—very exceedingly good—at refusing to take bait when it’s laid out for her. She’s been playing this little passive aggressive war of attrition game with the Governor for an hour now, and she didn’t expect him to say anything that might actually rile her up—what with her being so difficult to rile—but something about the way he says, I know what my girls are like—
Galinda prepares to say something truly ugly, prepares to maybe even raise her voice a little, and it’s only Elphaba’s hand on her thigh that stops her. Her long nails dig into Galinda’s skin right over her knee, and she gives her the tiniest little shake of the head Galinda’s ever seen. She takes a deep breath.
“I suppose you must,” Galinda says primly, after a breath. “I just—I love the both of them very much. They’re two of the dearest friends I’ve ever had.”
For the first time, the Governor’s gaze softens on her.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he tells her, and something icky swirls in her gut, leaving her without an appetite. She doesn’t finish the rest of the meal, but she thanks Governor Thropp for treating her anyway when they’ve finished.
Galinda’s told to go on ahead of Elphaba and Nessarose after lunch, and she should have anticipated that Elphaba would have some required family time without her, but she finds herself not sure what to do with herself as soon as she’s back at the dorm. She’d foolishly kind of counted on having Elphie by her side all day. She misses her. Her moms will still be out shopping, and they won’t expect her until dinner, and she wants to give them enough time to find all the best birthday gifts for her that the town of Shiz has to offer. So she bides her time in their room.
It’s late in the afternoon, closing in on evening, when she finally hears the key turn in the lock of their suite, and Galinda jumps to meet Elphie at the door. She greets her with a big excited smile and outstretched arms, but—
No. Something’s wrong.
Elphaba sweeps past her in a huff, tossing her bag aside so it lands on her bed and beelining for their balcony.
“Elphie?” Galinda asks, trailing after her.
“I need a minute, Galinda,” Elphie tells her curtly, voice shaking, and slams the door behind her as she heads out.
Galinda reels for a tick. Thoughts of: Did I do something wrong? Did I upset her father somehow? But I was so very nice! I didn't even yell at him—
She takes a breath and counts to sixty-five in her head before following Elphaba out onto the balcony.
“Elphaba?” she calls cautiously. “It’s been a minute. I counted and everything.”
Elphaba stands with her back to Galinda, clutching the edge of the balcony’s wooden railing. Her shoulders are drawn tight as a bowstring, and she’s plucked all the little flowers from her braid and left them crumpled at her feet, and she’s trembling and wheezing and—
She’s crying.
Elphaba never cries. Well—almost never (that night at the Ozdust being something of an exceptional night in many ways). Still, it’s a rare enough occurrence that it rattles Galinda for a moment.
“Oh, Elphie,” Galinda coos, and touches the back of Elphaba’s hand, her neck, her cheek, “Oh, oh, oh,” and then she’s drawing Elphaba into her arms. Elphaba lands there all too easily, burying her face against Galinda’s shoulder and gripping the back of Galinda’s dress in two tight fists. “What is it, darling? What happened?”
Elphaba starts, “My father—and Nessa—” but then cuts herself off and shakes her head no, so Galinda doesn’t press. Just sweeps a hand up and down Elphaba’s spine and hopes it’s helping.
Her chest aches for her friend. She doesn’t want to tell Elphie it’s okay if it very much isn’t (and she’s certain it isn’t), so she settles for whispering a gentle, “I’m sorry,” into her ear.
Elphaba lifts her head, brows drawn together. “For what?”
“That you feel so dreadful,” Galinda answers, plucking Elphaba’s eyeglasses off her face to clean them off on her own skirt. It gives Elphie a chance to wipe her eyes. “It’s such a shame to see you cry, although—Elphie, can I tell you a secret?” She leans in, replacing Elphaba’s glasses on her face and nudging them up her nose with the tip of her finger. “I think you’re a beautific crier. It makes your eyes look so green.”
“Galinda.” Elphie makes a play at sounding exasperated, but there’s that sneaky little smile Galinda loves. Her heart flutters in her chest, like soft butterfly wings.
“Not that I think you should be made to cry more often, obviously,” Galinda rambles. “But if I looked half as pretty as you do when I cried, then perhaps I wouldn’t feel so awful when it happened.”
Elphaba giggles, a stuffed-up little sound, and Galinda beams with pride.
“Now, do you mind telling me why in the name of all things good you ruined all my hard work from this morning and took these lovely flowers out of your hair?” Galinda asks, plucking one of the crumpled, wilted white blossoms off the ground. Elphie’s face draws closed again.
“They don’t suit me,” she intones, almost robotically.
“Of course they do.” Ridiculous notion.
“No, Galinda, I’m not—” She cuts herself off with a frustrated huff. “I’m not like you, okay? I don’t look good in flowers and fine dresses and—and pearls and whatnot. I’m not the kind of girl who needs these kinds of… things to draw attention to myself. I already draw enough attention as-is. I shouldn’t have worn them in the first place.”
Galinda lifts an eyebrow. “Are you done spouting nonsense? Because we’ve got to get ready for dinner with my moms soon, and I’d like to fix your hair again, and you should probably change into something a little more formal—”
“I don’t think I can go to that,” Elphie says, glancing away.
Galinda pouts. “Why ever not?”
“I just don’t have it in me,” Elphaba confesses. “I’m too tired. I can’t sit at another table and make painful smalltalk with people I barely know. I’m sorry, sweet, I know you wanted me to meet your mothers—”
“Well, how about this, then?” Galinda starts gently, sliding her hands into Elphaba’s. Warmth radiates up her arms from the contact. “Just let me dress you up a little, okay? For fun. To take your mind off things.”
Elphie always pretends, but Galinda knows she enjoys their little dress-up games and makeovers just as much as Galinda does. She’s only a girl, after all. Elphaba thinks for a moment.
“Please?” Galinda whines, squeezing her hands. “It’ll be no fun for me to get all dressed up on my own. It’s much more enjoyable when it’s the both of us.”
“If you insist,” Elphaba finally acquiesces, and Galinda squeals and bounces on the tips of her toes.
“Don’t worry, I have just the thing for you,” Galinda says, already ushering her back into the room.
“Whenever you start with don’t worry is when I start to worry,” Elphaba warns.
“Oh, hush,” Galinda scolds. “You’re gonna love this. Pinky promise.”
By the time Galinda’s done with the both of them, she’s in a butter yellow tulle dress (she may be devoted to pink, but she’s not beholden to it) that flares at the waist, and a pair of clicky-clacky mary jane heels of light brown leather. She’s tied her curls half up with a silk ribbon the color of a peach, and Elphaba tells her she looks like a pastry, which she chooses to take as a compliment.
As for Elphaba: she coaxes her to apply the barest hint of a dark lipstick, and then has to basically straddle her lap in order to force her still for a little eyeliner and mascara. It’s close quarters, so both of them hold their breath until Galinda wavers, going a little light in the head, and Elphaba steadies her with a warm hand on her waist.
“Easy,” she says, breath ghosting over Galinda’s cheek, “don’t hurt yourself.”
“Oh, please .” Galinda rolls her eyes and sits back on Elphaba’s knees. “I’m a professional.” Still, her heart is racing, and she doesn't stop feeling lightheaded until they're no longer touching.
She takes Elphaba’s hair down for her, running her fingers through the fine braids, and simply pins a few of the front pieces back away from her face. And, well, perhaps she’s making something of a point—she can’t let Elphaba’s little self-deprecating comment stand—when the hairpins she uses are the ones with little cream pearls on them, and when the dress she digs out from the bottom of Elphaba’s trunk is that lovely silk thing she never wears because it's too nice —black as ink with pleats in the skirt and little pearl buttons down the front. Elphaba doesn’t seem to catch on until Galinda, as the final touch, fastens one of her own pearl necklaces around Elphaba’s neck, at which point she startles and begins to protest:
“Galinda, I can’t—”
“I’m not giving it to you, Elphaba, calm down. You’re borrowing it,” she says simply, then takes Elphaba by the shoulders and turns her towards their full-length mirror. Her chin rests on Elphaba’s shoulder, and she murmurs, “C’mon, admit it. I did good.”
“You did well,” Elphaba corrects.
“So you do admit it!” Galinda crows, hooking her arms around Elphaba’s waist, and Elphaba fails to hold back a small laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re just going to stay inside all night now that you look this beautiful.”
Elphaba rests a hand over Galinda’s arm, fingertips tracing an absent circle. Galinda shivers, nestles closer. “You’re a dirty trickster,” Elphie says. “You know that?”
“I like getting my way,” Galinda hums. “You’re coming to dinner. Momsie and Momsicle already made a reservation for four, and they’d hate to see an empty seat at the table.”
Elphaba is helpless to protest, at this point. She is already dressed for dinner, after all.
As they walk the streets of Shiz with their arms hooked together, skirts swishing and long hair swinging in tandem, Galinda can’t help but think how good they look together. Complementary. If you asked a stranger to picture two perfectly matched best friends, they’d probably picture Galinda and Elphaba without even knowing them.
Momsie wears blush pink and Momsicle a deep midnight blue (and Galinda’s now glad she opted for yellow so she doesn’t look too much like Momsie), and she yanks Elphaba down the street with her as soon as she spots them.
“There you girls are!” Momsie calls, and immediately wraps Elphaba in a big hug—“Oh, it’s good to see you again!”—before moving on to Galinda. “Don’t you both look marvelous! Don’t they look marvelous, Larena?”
“Spectaculific,” Momsicle concurs. “Shall we?”
Dinner is altogether a different affair from lunch. Elphaba is shy and tentative at first, but Galinda and her mothers have easy, light rapport, and all make an effort to coax her out of her little Elphie-shell. Momsie makes it her mission to get a giggle out of Elphie wherever she can with her big, loud (embarrassing) stories, while Momsicle plies her with thoughtful questions and equally thoughtful listening. The table splits a bottle of Breadbasket wine, and by the time dinner is over, Galinda is feeling warm and buzzy and bubbly all the way through her.
She doesn’t want the night to end.
Galinda insists everyone take a wander through Shiz’s botanical gardens to look at some of the night blooms, because she knows Momsicle can’t resist a rare flower (her magical specialty is botany), and she knows Momsie can’t resist Momsicle, and she knows Elphaba’s too afraid of appearing rude in front of Galinda’s mothers to refuse anything the rest of them want .
So now Galinda’s seated on a bench under a rose-draped trellis, watching Momsicle demonstrate to Elphaba how to magically coax a bud to bloom, and watching Momsicle light up in surprised delight when Elphaba repeats the simple magic on the first try. She can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but she can hear their laughter, the excited timbre of their voices.
Galinda is delighted by Elphaba, too, and impressed by her, and so, so proud of her, every time she uses her magic. But watching them, there’s a little part of Galinda that also goes ever-so-blue.
All she’s ever wanted was to impress her mothers. To be just as magical as they are. To make a flower bloom in the palm of her hand, or pull the sun out of hiding on a rainy day, or conjure images up from the pages of a book to dance in the air. She was never a child who wanted very much to forge her own path; she’s only ever wanted to tread the well-worn trail her parents blazed.
She just has no knack for it. None at all. She’d hoped college—resources, books, the greatest instructors in all Oz—might change that, but…
“Oh, cupcake, it just takes practice,” Momsie sighs, plopping down on the bench beside her. She wants to point out, Elphaba doesn't have to practice. She’s forgotten, in these long months apart, how easily her mother can read her. “Do you want me to show you how she does it?”
Galinda hesitates, then nods. Momsie stands up, barely as tall as the bench is long, reaching on her tiptoes to pluck a small bud from the rosebush. She has to hop a bit to get it. She places it in Galinda’s waiting palm, then cups her hands under both of her daughter’s.
“Alright, now I want you to take a deep breath,” Momsie says, and Galinda does—fills her lungs until they can’t hold any more. “Good, now close your eyes.” Galinda does, diligent. “And I want you to scrunch up your toes as tight as they’ll go and wiggle your nose three times—”
“Momsie, don’t do it for me, I need to learn.” Galinda’s eyes come open, recognizing the old trick. Her mother’s eyes are crystalline blue, peering back, and she has a soft smile on her face. She tucks an errant curl behind Galinda’s ear and tells her:
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She takes a step back and plants her hands on her hips and gets serious. “You’re gonna close your eyes, and you’re gonna visualize each petal pulling back, one at a time. And then you’re gonna find that feeling inside you—that sticky, stubborn thing that makes you stamp your feet and dig in your heels, and I dealt with enough of your tantrums when you were little to know it's in there—and you’re gonna use that to make it happen. Got it?”
Galinda swallows. She nods. Her Momsie’s bright eyes sparkle.
“Alright. Show me what you got, sugarplum.”
Galinda closes her eyes and she breathes deep, and all she can find inside herself is— slippery. Nothing stable, nothing stubborn. That same old scrambling, screaming, clawing desperation that she always feels when she looks inward for her magic. And since it’s all she’s got, she pours that through her palms, visualizes the rose unfurling between her hands and begs it to work, work, please please please work.
She reaches the end of her held breath and exhales sharply. She opens her eyes, hopeful for just a moment. But the rosebud remains unbudged in the bowl of her cupped hands.
She knows Momsie can see her disappointment. For some reason, that’s always been the worst part of this.
“I’ll keep practicing later,” Galinda tells her, pretending to tuck the rosebud in a pocket but actually brushing it to the ground. “I left my practice wand back in the room. Elphie can help me work on it.”
“You’ll get the hang of it, darling, it just takes time,” Momsie says, confident and sure of it in a way Galinda’s struggling to be these days.
Momsie rejoins her on the bench, scooting close enough to share warmth. Elphie and Momsicle are still flouncing through the flowers, coaxing things to bloom and burst in the silvery moonlight. A particular nocturnal flower emits a golden light when its petals come open, and it illuminates their enthusiastic smiles.
“Your mother and that Elphaba of yours are two peas in a pod, don’t you think?” Momsie asks.
“Yes, well, Elphie’s unusually and exceedingly gifted at sorcery,” Galinda says, a little distracted by the way the golden light illuminates Elphie’s green skin.
“Hm,” Momsie responds. Then: “You know, when Momsicle and I suggested you might bring a special someone along to dinner, we sort of expectified that boyfriend you’ve mentioned once or twice.”
Galinda startles, blinks. The thought had never even occurred to her. She finds herself blushing, unable to look at her mother. “Well, he’s busy with his parents this weekend,” Galinda murmurs.
“And Elphaba doesn’t have parents?” Momsie teases.
Galinda scowls. “Not good ones. Her father’s a real piece of work, Momsie, like you wouldn’t believe.” She lowers her voice to hiss, “He made her cry today. Her! Cry! I mean, it’s like—it’s like—” She can’t find a cruelty great enough to compare it to. Kicking puppies has nothing on making Elphie cry. She folds her arms in a huff. “I hope his hideodious little tophat catches fire and melts him down to nothing.”
“Galinda!” Momsie scolds, but she’s laughing, more surprised than anything. “I’ve never heard you say such a scandalocious thing!”
“Yes, well, I’ve never met such a horrendible person,” Galinda retorts.
“In that case, I’m even gladder that you brought her along,” Momsie says. “She’s a wonderful young lady.”
“The wonderfullest,” Galinda agrees readily, eyes tracking the elegant movement of Elphaba’s lovely hands as she coaxes a vine to twirl up, up, up. “Doesn’t she look positively emerald in this light?”
“Yes, she’s a very pretty girl,” Momsie says, but Galinda can feel her eyes on her now, so she glances at her with a question in her eyebrows. “Oh, it’s nothing,” Momsie answers the question airily, though there’s a sly curl of her lips that still says it’s something, and Galinda’s just as good at reading Momsie as Momsie is at reading her. Galinda’s brow furrows: I insist. Momsie sighs. “You know that your mother and I met in school, yes?”
“I—yes?” Galinda has no idea where her Momsie is going with this.
“She was my tutor, for my beginner’s sorcery seminar. I was no good at all when I started out, and I needed the help. She was exceptionally gifted, and I think I got on her nerves at first.” Momsie gets this wistful look in her eye, watching Momsicle teaching Elphaba. “And she had a boyfriend when we met. One she thought she was very much in love with, and was certain she would marry.”
Galinda’s head whips around to pin her mother with a direct stare. “What!?”
Momsie pokes Galinda on the end of the nose and tells her, “Your Uncle Highmuster.”
“UNCLE HIGHMUSTER!?” Galinda throws a hand over her heart, aghast. Across the way, both Elphaba and Momsicle look in their direction, concerned and confused (respectively).
“Oh, hush with your dramatics, we obviously all stayed friends, given that you grew up calling him Uncle,” Momsie tuts. To Elphaba and Momsicle: “She’s fine, she’s just Galind-ing.”
“Don’t verbify my name, it’s not nice,” Galinda pouts. Momsie lightly pinches her chin, all fondness. “Momsicle was going to marry Uncle Highmuster?”
“She thought she was,” Momsie clarifies. “But the more I spent time with your mother, the more…” She considers her words, and Galinda watches, rapt. “She liked Highmuster—he was smart and handsome and well-liked and came from a good family, and they had so much fun together. Oh, they were just the best of friends. But when it came time to think about things like: who she wanted to share a home with, who she wanted to travel with, who she wanted to raise the most beautiful baby in all of Oz with—” And she meets Galinda’s eyes with such brimming, overwhelming pride that Galinda thinks she might tear up. “—there was only one person she said she didn’t want to do any of those things without, and it wasn’t Uncle Highmuster.” Momsie tosses her hair over a shoulder, smirking. “Really, could you blame her? And look at the perfect girl we raised together! Love him to bits, but Highmuster wouldn't have done half as good.”
“That’s so sweet, Momsie,” Galinda says, hand still resting gently over her heart. “I think you’re perfect, too.”
“Well, of course I am,” Momsie says, tossing her hair over the other shoulder now, “you take after me.” She pauses. “You’ve always been so much like me.” And Galinda’s heard as much her whole life, so she knows it’s true, but she’s not sure how it’s relevant right now of all times.
Galinda leans her head on her mother’s shoulder, and Momsie wraps her arms around her.
“Nineteen,” she murmurs, sounding almost astonished by it. “The same age your Momsicle and I were when we met one another. It seems like just yesterday we were dropping you off at twirling lessons. And now, here you are.” Momsie sounds like she’s getting choked up, and Galinda pats the back of her hand. “Studying sorcery. Sneaking off to dance parties. Falling in love—”
“Whoa, whoa, Momsie,” Galinda sits up fast. “I’m not—Fiyero and I aren’t—I mean, he’s perfect, we’re perfect together, but we’re not—”
“Oh, pish, I didn’t mean him,” Momsie snaps back, and Galinda blanches. Her eyes snap to Elphaba almost against her will, and she flushes hot, shutting her eyes against the sudden burn of humiliation. Her mother frets: “Oh, dear, now I’ve embarrassed you. I’m sorry, cupcake, I swear I didn’t mean to. You still have all the time in the world to figure things out, and it’s perfectly fine to have some fun with your little boyfriend while you do that—”
“Momsie!” Galinda interrupts, slightly more harsh. “I’m not falling in love—!”
And of course, this is the moment Elphaba chooses to cut in with a soft, “Galinda?”
Galinda whips around so fast she almost topples off the bench, and only Momsie’s quick hands stop that from happening.
Momsicle stands right there behind Elphaba, but offers a hand to Momsie and makes a little let’s-give-them-space gesture with her head.
“We’ll just be… examining the trees,” Momsie trills, soprano and sing-song as she skips away with Momsicle on her arm.
Galinda has never felt so humilified in all her life. Maybe introducing her moms to Elphaba wasn’t such a good idea, she thinks. She’s blushing furiously, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep a poker face rather than bury her face in her hands when Elphaba takes up Momsie’s spot on the bench.
She doesn’t know why she’s blushing, either, because she’s obviously not falling in love with Elphaba, or whatever Momsie just implied.
Quiet stretches between them. Galinda primly clears her throat, then says nothing, searching for her moms’ silhouettes in the darkened garden.
“I really like your mothers,” Elphaba finally says.
“Yes, they’re the best,” Galinda agrees, a little absent. Then, darkly: “Usually.”
Elphaba chuckles slightly. “Your… Momsicle,” Elphaba stumbles over the word, like she has a hard time with it, “is a fun person to talk to. She’s really smart, it’s interesting to hear what she has to say about sorcery. Her perspective is so different from everything Madame Morrible is teaching us.”
A hint of that unwarranted, unfair jealousy rears its head, and Galinda doesn’t have anything to say to that.
“She reminds me a lot of you,” Elphaba says softly, and Galinda looks back at her.
“Everyone always says I’m more like Momsie,” Galinda argues.
“Maybe,” Elphaba concedes. “Probably. I haven’t spent enough time with them to say for sure. But she—Larena, I mean. She thinks like you do.”
Something about that is really nice to hear, even if Galinda’s not entirely sure what it means. And it’s flattering. People always remark on how smart Momsicle is, and it’s not that Momsie isn’t smart, too, but Momsicle is very smart. Galinda smiles down at her lap.
“Plus, you’ve both got this.” Elphaba pokes the little dimple on Galinda’s left cheek, and she blushes all over again.
“Well, she’s got them on both sides, and I only have the one,” Galinda complains. “So she’s winning.”
“You poor thing,” Elphaba teases. “It must be very hard for you.”
“To know my mother is prettier than I am? Yes, it’s just awful.”
“Shameless,” scolds Elphaba, eyes twinkling, and Galinda gives her a mischievous little smirk. “Anyway, I came over here to give you this. I made it for you.” And Galinda hadn’t noticed she’d been holding something, but Elphaba places a woven, braided crown of flowers gently atop Galinda’s head. She frets with Galinda’s hair, making sure it falls just so under the crown, and Galinda goes warm under the attention.
“Thank you, Elphie.” Galinda tries to tuck away her smile, but she knows her dimple gives her away. “I feel like a princess.”
Elphie stares at her fondly for another long moment without saying anything, then seems to remember herself.
“Should we maybe go find your parents before they get lost?” she suggests.
They walk arm-in-arm through the garden, and for the first time ever, Galinda is aware of every point of contact. The warmth of Elphaba’s arm, the sturdiness of her shoulder, the gentle nudge of her hip against Galinda’s. She tries to picture what Momsie sees, looking at the two of them, and—does Momsicle think Galinda’s in love with Elphie, too? Are they—Oz forbid!—co-conspirators!?
They find Momsie and Momsicle staring up into the sprawling, endless branches of the University’s Quoxwood specimen. The two of them have their arms looped together, and Momsie has her head on Momsicle’s shoulder, and they look so right together—like if you asked a stranger to picture a perfect married couple, they’d probably picture Galinda’s parents without even knowing them.
Galinda’s acutely aware of how she and Elphie are kind of mimicking their pose. She’s not sure what to make of that.
“Well, girls,” Momsicle says, glancing over her shoulder with a small smile, “will you let us walk you back to campus?”
“I really like your Elphaba,” Momsicle tells Galinda in a low voice as they walk back. “I’ve never met anyone quite like her before.”
“Me, either,” Galinda says.
“She cares about you very, very much,” Momsicle says, catching Galinda’s eye in that way she does sometimes, where it’s like she’s trying to beam messages into Galinda’s brain without actually putting the words together. Galinda’s face warms, and she has to look away.
“Yes, well, I care about her very much, too,” Galinda says. “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Mhm,” Momsicle says. She wraps an arm around Galinda’s shoulders, giving her a little side-squeeze as they walk. “Well, I’m glad you’ve managed to find such a special best…” Pause. “Friend. Be gentle with her, is all the advice I’ll give.”
Galinda quirks an eyebrow, gives her mother a look.
“She has a tender heart, my treasure, and like I said, she likes you very much,” Momsicle explains. “And I’ve known you for nineteen years now, I know gentle is not always second nature for you.”
“I would never do anything to hurt her,” Galinda argues, immediately offended.
“I know you wouldn’t, you’re the sweetest baby I ever had,” Momsicle says with a wink. “What I mean is: I think she makes you as happy as you make her. And when you find someone like that…” Her eyes drift forward, to the back of Momsie’s head, where she’s pulling Elphaba along and yammering away. Elphie glances back over her shoulder towards Galinda, a help-me kind of look on her face, and Galinda giggles. Momsicle, too, and she finishes, “You do what you can to hang on to that. Special people are rare, it’s what makes them so special.”
Elphie is special, Galinda thinks. Singular.
“Now, why don’t you say we go rescue that sweet green thing from your terrifying Momsie? She looks like she’s about to pass out.”
“Good idea,” Galinda agrees quickly, and she and Momsicle quicken their pace to catch up.
Galinda can’t sleep.
She lies awake, flat on her back, staring at the ceiling.
She hears Elphie across the room, tossing and turning, springs on her mattress creaking. But Elphie’s never been a peaceful sleeper, so that might not mean she's awake.
Still, Galinda whispers, “Elphie?”
Across the room, Elphaba stills. Then: “Yes?”
“Are you awake?”
Another pause. Then, “Yes.”
Galinda sighs and slides out of her bed, padding softly across the room to hover over Elphie’s bed. Elphaba rolls over onto her back, peering up at her.
“Can I?” Galinda asks, and Elphaba simply lifts her sheets so Galinda can crawl under with her.
It’s not unheard of for the two of them to share a bed. Usually, though, it’s either with a practical excuse—the radiator’s on the fritz again and neither of us feel like starting a fire in the fireplace and well we've gotta stay warm somehow—or because they just wind up that way after staying up too late gossipping or studying.
Right now, they stare at each other in the dark. Elphie’s toes are cold, brushing Galinda’s ankles. Their knees knock together.
“Let’s both tell each other something we’ve never told anyone else before,” Galinda whispers.
Elphie nods. Then, silence. Galinda blinks at Elphaba.
“Oh!” Elphie says. “You want me to go first?”
Galinda nods.
“Because you usually want to go first—”
“Just tell me something, Elphie.” Galinda reaches for Elphaba’s hand under the covers.
“Like what?”
“Like…” Galinda thinks, then lands on, “What happened today, after I left? With your father and your sister, I mean.”
Elphie’s face falls. She glances away. “I overreacted. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been crying like that—”
“No!” Galinda stops her, tugging on her hands. “No, Elphie, don’t say that. Just tell me.”
Elphie sighs. Long moments tick by.
“Nessarose and I fought,” Elphaba finally says. “She never stands up for herself, with Father, and she never stands up for—” Me. Galinda wants suddenly, so badly, to pull Elphaba’s hands to her lips and press a kiss to each finger, and she’s not sure where that impulse comes from. She satisfies the urge by squeezing both of Elphie’s hands between both of hers, like she’s shaping a little ball of fingers and knuckles. “Father kept making comments, about what I was wearing, how I acted, how I looked… and about you. I don’t know. I took it out on Nessa. I said some less than kind things. I told her he treats her like a child because she acts like one, which was unfair, and I said she didn’t deserve to be given Mother’s shoes. To which she reminded me that he treats her like he loves her, because he does, and that he treats her like she’s beautiful, because she is, which—” Elphaba cuts herself off.
Galinda’s esteem for Nessarose falls by a considerable few shades. Perhaps she needs to reconsider her transitive property of dearness.
“Elphie, you are beautiful,” Galinda whispers. Elphaba shakes her head, and Galinda insists, “Elphaba. Don’t make me out to be a liar. You’re—” She lets go of Elphie’s hands to cup her face. She murmurs, “You’re hurting my feelings. Why would you believe her and not me?”
“Galinda,” Elphie says, covering Galinda’s hand on her face. It sounds so condescending, it makes Galinda want to scream.
“What did he say about me, then?” Galinda asks, sharp. “Your father. You said he was making comments about me. What were they?”
“You pity me,” Elphie says simply. “Father thinks you pity me.”
“Pity?” Galinda asks. “Pity!?” She sits up, and Elphie goes with her. “I’ll beat the man with hammers! He thinks I pity you? On what grounds? I’ll hex his awful, ugly hat! Why, I’ll have him arrested! Pity you—”
“Galinda, Galinda, calm down,” Elphaba says, grabbing her hands. There’s a bare trace of amusement in her voice.
“I’m serious, Elphaba, I’ll—”
“Do all manner of unsavory things to the only parent I have left, yes, I hear you,” Elphaba teases.
“And I’ll be having a word or ten with Miss Nessarose, as well,” Galinda threatens. “How dare she—?”
“No, please do not,” Elphaba warns, going a shade more serious. She touches Galinda’s cheek, tentative, before she smooths a palm over it. Her thumb brushes the spot where Galinda’s dimple hides. “It’s between me and my sister. We’ve had these arguments before, and we always work it out. As soon as I apologize, she’ll apologize. It’ll be okay.”
“But you have nothing to apologize for!” Galinda insists.
“My sweet, it’s a sister thing,” Elphaba tells her gently. “I mean this as kindly as possible, but you don’t have a sister, you can’t possibly understand. Nessarose and I will be fine, so long as you don’t involve yourself. Alright?”
Galinda wants to grind her teeth even as she concedes, “Alright.”
“Okay,” Elphaba breathes, relief and amusement creeping back into her voice.
A beat.
“You don’t think I pity you, though, do you?” Galinda asks quietly.
Elphaba examines her face for a long moment—eyes sweeping over Galinda’s furrowed brow, her dark eyes, her pouting lips. Her thumb moves over Galinda’s cheek again, and Galinda closes her eyes on an exhale.
“I don’t,” Elphaba finally decides. “You wouldn’t have been nearly such a terror those first couple months if you did.”
“Elphie,” Galinda whines, tipping her head forward to land on Elphaba’s shoulder. Elphie’s hand moves to cup the base of her skull, sharp nails scratching deliciously. “Must you always remind me?”
“I must,” Elphie quips pleasantly.
Galinda groans in dramatic complaint.
“It’s your turn, sweet,” Elphie urges in a low voice. “You tell me a secret now.”
“My mothers think I’m in love with you,” Galinda says without thinking, all impulse, and she doesn’t mean to say it, she’s just—well, tired, and her brain’s gone fuzzy from Elphie scratching at the back of her neck like that, and she’s just not thinking, but Elphie freezes and suddenly Galinda realizes what she’s just said.
“They—?” Elphaba clears her throat. Laughs a little. “They do?”
Galinda sits up lightning fast.
“Haven’t you told them about Fiyero?” Elphaba asks, a hidden smile in the corner of her lips.
“Yes!” Galinda answers quickly—too quickly? “Yes, of course I have.”
“So then, why—?”
“Well, I’ve no idea!” Galinda’s blushing all the way through her, all the way down to the tips of her fingers and toes, she thinks. If Elphaba were to turn a lamp on, she’d be pinker than her wardrobe. “They’re ridiculocious people with preoposteracious ideas! That’s why.”
Galinda starts to fret, hands fluttering, and she moves to leave Elphaba’s bed.
“Oh, why did I say that? I shouldn’t have told you that, I have ten-frillion other secrets I could have told you, oh, this is humilifying, I’m sorry, Elphie, and now you’re embarrassed—”
“I’m not—” Elphaba reaches for her, but Galinda dodges her and starts to pace.
“—and I’m embarrassed, and all because of my mothers, yes, it’s their fault, they’re the ones—”
“My sweet.” Elphie stands, puts a hand on Galinda’s wrist, and she stops Galinda in her tracks. “Why are you panicking? You don’t control what your parents think. Though, I’ll agree with you, it is funny.”
Galinda feels hot tears start to gather in her eyes. Funny. Elphaba’s smile falls off.
“It… is funny, right?” she asks cautiously.
Galinda bites her lip against a sob and shakes her head determinedly no.
Galinda’s not all that much shorter or younger than Elphaba, really. Only about half an inch and a little over a year between them—something that goes away entirely when Galinda puts on heels and they’re in the same graduating class.
She’s never felt smaller or more babyish than she does right now, in the face of Elphaba’s careful analysis.
One tear escapes, and suddenly Elphaba is tugging her in with a soft, “Hey—hey, hey, hey.”
Galinda keens plaintively into Elphaba’s shoulder, and Elphaba rocks her back and forth.
“I hate your father,” Galinda insists, hands seeking Elphie’s waist, her hips, trying to distract. “I hate him so much.”
“I know you do, sweetness,” Elphie laughs. “You’re not subtle.” Her nails scratch at that spot where Glinda’s neck meets her skull again, and it makes her limbs feel all fuzzy.
Elphaba holds her until Galinda can get ahold of herself. In the quiet, dark warmth of their room, she finally asks, “What about Fiyero?”
“What about him?” Galinda volleys back.
Elphie sighs, and Galinda snuggles closer. She’s not ready to talk about this. She realized it the minute she put it out there, but now it’s out, an elephant or Elephant breathing in the room between them, and she knows she didn’t save this well enough to take it back.
“I don’t know,” Galinda says honestly. “Do I have to know?”
“I suppose not right now,” Elphie muses. She untangles them just enough, putting them almost in a dancing position: one hand on Galinda’s shoulder, one hand twined through Galinda’s, with Galinda's spare hand still resting on the curve of her hip. “But at some point, you’ll have to figure it out.”
Galinda goes quiet. Thinking. Always such a bother, when answers don’t come easily and immediately like they should. Elphie sways them while she mulls.
“Come back to bed,” Elphie whispers, and it sends a shiver down Galinda’s spine. She tugs Galinda along with her, and they crawl back under her still-warm covers.
And it’s in that moment that Galinda figures it out, a few ticks later than she would've liked. Before Elphie can move away from her, Galinda takes her face between her hands and kisses her.
Elphie freezes, but her hands seek out Galinda’s waist, holding her there. Galinda pulls back, examining Elphie’s perfectly lovely eyes, before she leans in again, slower, savoring. Better prepared, Elphaba follows her lead, opening her mouth for Galinda’s tongue and letting Galinda drag her teeth along her bottom lip.
Galinda’s limbs feel like fizz; her head feels hot and twirly.
Kissing Fiyero is fun, and a little bit funny, but it’s never felt like this.
Thoughts of him basically evaporate at the first tentative swipe of Elphie’s tongue against Galinda’s. Galinda lets loose a delirious, devastated moan that shocks the both of them out of the moment. Even in the dark, Galinda can tell Elphaba’s flushed.
“I think I do know what I want to do about Fiyero, actually,” Galinda pants.
Elphaba smiles. “Thank Oz.” And, pulling Galinda back in, “And thank your moms.”
“Ew, let’s not bring them into this.”
Elphie laughs, and Galinda kisses her senseless.