Work Text:
She came home to uninvited visitors in her living room, eating her snacks, a heated argument ongoing. The scenario is not unusual, but the topic has her eyebrows reaching her hairline.
“You think it ever comes off? I'm pretty sure it's real. I'd obviously have to physically have it to test how many karat.”
“Nah, man. That thing’s seen some shit. It's cold, might feel good, and that texture, too.”
“With them, you know it’s a sex thing. Guaranteed.”
“Oh, not even a question. No doubt, no doubt. Makes choking maybe easier like ack, you know—”
“Yes, Constance, we know what asphyxiation looks like, but thank you for the demo.”
She’s heard enough. “What are you lot gossiping about this time?”
The three oblivious suspects jump at the sound of her voice after making her presence known, guilt clear as day on what – rather whom – they were talking about.
No answer, all right then. Heading to the kitchen to unpack groceries, she pries, “Why are you even here? You’ve got your places, and there’s always Tammy’s suburban dream for food and emotional uniformity between her kids and you three.”
Amita snickers until she realizes she was part of that dig, deflating a little.
“We dropped by before you guys start getting freaky. Heard it’s your anniversary or something. Congratulations, I guess?"
"We say happy anniversary, pretty sure. Not sure how it works.”
“How it works is you leave us alone, bloody weirdos. And Nine, you 'heard,' or hacked our devices?”
“Same thing,” Leslie shrugs. “That’s how we got talking about the one piece that never seems to leave your neck despite an abundance of other choices. Was that a present from way back when? We been takin' bets on what Debbie’s stealing… or buying for you this year.”
“I’m not sure what she’s up to, where she's shopping. I was told to cook dinner.”
“Whipped.”
She’s heard similar comments enough times to not let it bother her. Besides, it’s true. “And what about it?”
Silence. She could get used to this.
The chopping is well underway when she decides to throw them a bone. Because they’ve stuck around. Of course.
(Some days, it's like having college-aged children who haven't moved out yet, no matter the amount of begging and bribery.)
Lou clears her throat. “It’s not her staking a claim, nor is it a dominatrix collar. I know that’s mostly what you think,” smirking a little, she mutters under her breath. “I wish.”
She was heard anyway.
Constance gapes, but with a tinge of nausea. “Honestly, it’s one thing to think and joke about it, but really, really gross in reality.”
“S’what you get for being nosy.”
“Whatever. Continue please.”
It's a really good thing pans are sizzling and water's running - white noise to keep her calm - her hands preoccupied, otherwise she wouldn't divulge this much.
Hope Debbie doesn't mind.
“It’s a promise necklace of sorts – the only kind she would follow through with: the promise of wealth, of success. Too many years ago now, she said she won’t always be around, but that this will ground me, remind me that she’ll be there for our wins. Love she can't guarantee, but this was one thing she refuses to fail at, and that was enough for me.”
*****
Lou Miller's always been a science aficionado.
Of any topic, really. But there's a particularly soft spot for emotions, behaviour, psyche, the inner workings of the human brain.
Debbie would often catch her with a plethora of titles:
Stumbling on Happiness, How We Decide, Can't Just Stop: An Investigation of Compulsions, ("I'm trying to find a cure for your thieving ways," Lou winked at her once), Neuromarketing, The Paradox of Choice, The Compass of Pleasure, Civilization and Its Discontents, The Collected Schizophrenias, and she could swear to have seen Brain Surgery for Dummies at one point.
And so Debbie decided to join her once, picking up a copy of NewScientist Instant Expert's How Your Brain Works.
It surprisingly left her thoughtful as she stumbled upon one section in particular.
Lying in bed with Lou that night, she sleepily mumbles, "I learned something new from one of your many books today."
"Never thought I'd see the day."
"Shut up. You don't wanna hear about it?"
"Please, do go on, honey."
“There are five basic human emotions to know about."
"I'm well aware of one right now and I believe it's called 'annoyance.' Was that one? Did I get it right?"
She keeps going, used to a sleepy Lou's attitude.
"There are Confusion, Interest, Elevation, Gratitude, Pride. I went through all five the first night I met you, and continue to on a daily basis. But do you know the sixth one they missed?”
Lou's barely listening at this point, halfway to slumber, holding on tighter to the body leaving the bed. “No. What is it?”
“Contentment you find with nobody else but me,” unsuccessfully latching jewelry on her neck.
Suddenly wide awake, Lou scoffs, "That ego will threaten to smother us one day."
"It may, and yet here you are with me," smug now that her gift and sentiment have been accepted. "Stay."
"Nothing can keep me away," are whispered onto soft lips.
*****
“Wow, that is mad cheesy. Deborah Ocean, I am stunned—there are no words.”
“I expected a darker story, though. How disappointing. You sure she didn’t steal this off some dead dude?”
“A valid question since I don't really know where she got this from, but why would she make me wear it everyday if it was?”
"You tell me, kink fiend."
Speak of the devil, and she'll come strolling in wearing, well, Prada.
Debbie comes home with a copy of Aging with Grace.
The subheading reads "What the Nun Study Teaches Us About Leading Longer, Healthier, and More Meaningful Lives."
"Mmm, smells good in here." Debbie gets close and reaches out for a kiss. "Happy anniversary, baby. Got you something."
Lou can only laugh as she reads the blurb, snorting and tearing up a little.
"Oh, Ocean. We both know neither of us are nuns, but we will lead a long, mostly healthy, and certainly meaningful life."