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KJ has never really known how to take winter.
In one sense, she likes it. She likes being able to bundle up, and she’d always liked having the excuse to not wear dresses, and she thinks the snow is beautiful. Plus, seeing Mac drowning in layers of scarves and jackets – she always ran colder than the other three girls, wearing heavy layers even in the summertime – had always made KJ’s heart tug.
Now, with their recent developments, that tug was a lot more familiar. A lot more noticeable, fleshed out, given a name.
Luckily for KJ, she doesn’t have to hold back from pulling Mac in and kissing her whenever she wants – within reason, of course. They are still lesbians, and it’s still 1995, no matter where they live or how they grow to accept themselves.
That said, no matter how beautiful winter is, KJ always finds that cheer dying down as it falls to a close around late February and early March. By this far, all of the snow always melts into mush – and this mush mixes up with the mud and always dirties KJ’s clothes and shoes, and all she can think of is the way her mother used to yell at her for being unpresentable. All the decorations are gone by now, too; the streets all looking dreary as the sky darkens beneath gray clouds.
It’s on the walk home from their coffee run – there’s a coffee shop just around the block from their apartment building, and KJ and Mac always like to go early in the day before the morning rush kicks into motion. The streets are never really empty here, but they’re emptier at this hour.
Notably, as their feet kick through the damp, darkened snow that clutters some of the sidewalk, KJ notes how cold and dry the palms of her hands feel beneath her gloves. She’s hyper aware of how the cloth feels against her skin – how the fabric snags against the ring on her forefinger, a Valentine’s day gift from Mac.
KJ thinks maybe she really doesn’t like winter.
And then she remembers that the gift is from Valentine’s day, and she remembers the way Mac had looked at her – smug, but happy. Truly happy.
And KJ turns, stares at Mac as they walk along the sidewalk with warm drinks cupped in their hands, and KJ watches the rose-colored blush paint along the surface of Mac’s skin, and KJ thinks she loves winter. Loves winter and summer and spring and autumn, loves any given moment spent watching Mac.
She loves Mac, she thinks.
Her steps sort of falter.
Mac notices almost immediately, which does nothing to prevent the fondness from fluttering deeper in KJ’s chest, all wrapped around her heart like string. Every little moment that passes only deepens the ache. KJ wishes she could kiss Mac now. “You all good?” Mac asks, sort of quiet and soft, still a little bit raspy from sleep.
“Yeah,” KJ responds, pursing her lips into a tight smile as she forces herself to walk again, “Just thinking, is all.”
Mac hums thoughtfully in response. “Thinking about what?”
Without entirely meaning to, KJ coughs sharply in a surge of panic, feeling a sense of warmth settling beneath her skin – a stark contrast from the relentless chill of a New York winter. “I was just—” KJ scrambles to say, “I was thinking—”
In what seems equal parts a blessing and a curse, KJ is sharply cut off as her feet stumble over something on the sidewalk, and a bit of her coffee sloshes out around the edge of her cup, splattering to the pavement below. Mac’s hand is against KJ’s arm, she notices once she’s regained her balance; “Woah, woah, be careful.”
KJ turns to look at Mac – despite the fact that they’re together now, officially, little moments like this fluster KJ to no avail still. She wonders if things will always be this way; if every so often Mac will look at her, and KJ will feel like she is on the top of the world.
And then KJ turns, looks down at her feet to see what she’d tripped over, and…
There, not far from her ankles, a brown kitten rubs against the corner of a building.
“Oh my God,” Mac pipes up, voice just slightly higher than normal, and a smile pushes to KJ’s face on it’s own accord just from Mac’s excited tone.
“It’s just a baby,” KJ remarks, kneeling down to get a closer look at the kitten; it looks no older than a month, and KJ briefly looks around for the kitten’s mother or siblings, but it seems to be the only cat in sight. Gently, KJ rubs a gloved hand against the top of the kitten’s head; it makes a small noise and backs away.
“Here,” Mac pipes up, bending down to the same level as KJ. “It’s okay,” She tuts out as her hands reach out to gently grab ahold of the small kitten. It mews quietly, a panicked sort of sound, but Mac just pulls the cat up to her chest. “It’s probably freezing out here,” Mac remarks, to KJ now, thumb subconsciously scratching the underside of the kitten’s chin, “I don’t know how it survived this long.”
“We should take it in,” KJ says without thinking too hard on it – she doesn’t even register that the idea might be strange until after Mac’s eyes widen, “Just until we can get it to a good home.”
It’s strange. The look in Mac’s eyes is so akin to panic, and KJ can’t entirely understand why. “I,” Mac starts, cuts herself off sharply, and then starts again, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Kaje.”
“Oh, c’mon, what’s the harm?” KJ responds, a playful lilt to her tone that she hopes comforts Mac enough to ease this growing tension. She reaches out and pets the side of the cat’s face, just under it’s ear, and it closes it’s eyes in contentment.
There’s a brief pause as Mac seemingly contemplates, and KJ looks up at Mac with a raised eyebrow in an attempt to gauge her reaction. Mac looks back at her for a moment, another, and then she sighs. “Fine,” She remarks, “But you’re taking care of it.”
“No problem to me,” KJ cooes, moreso directed at the cat as she looks down at it, a relentless grin on her face.
And so, the cat comes home with them that morning – it’s very skinny, they almost immediately notice upon getting home. This can't be too much of a shock, as it is a stray cat, and there’s not the most consistent food supply for them. Still, Mac immediately looks through their fridge and cupboards for something to feed it.
It also has a small scab on it’s ear, likely the result of a fight with another cat. It’s not large enough to be a concern, at least not as far as KJ’s knowledge extends, but she’ll probably have to take the cat to a veterinarian either way.
They also discover that the kitten is a girl.
They toss names back and forth while Mac finds the kitten something to eat; names that slowly devolve into random food items that Mac sees – and by the time Mac suggests the name Lemon Pepper, KJ is laughing so hard that there are tears in her eyes, cooing at the little kitten, playfully calling her Lemon Pepper. The kitten purrs and rubs up against the palm of KJ’s hand; she’s likely just content with the warmth and affection, but KJ still giggles out, “Aw, I think she likes it!”
So that’s what they settle on – a silly name, and a bit of a mouthful as well, but a name nonetheless.
Despite Mac’s hesitation, KJ notices a couple things – picks up on a few little details through the rest of their day. She notices that Mac sits on the floor with the kitten for a while to make sure she’s eating and drinking, and notices that Mac doesn’t really put the kitten down for very long. She notices that night, when they’re tucking into KJ’s bed together — something they do now, now that they’re girlfriends — that Mac curls up against Lemon Pepper and makes sure she’s comfortable between the covers.
KJ realizes something, as she stares across the mattress at Mac, the only light being what peers from the moon between the blinds – and it’s something that comes not entirely in words, but in a strange sort of solidarity. She sees Mac, she sees Lemon Pepper, she sees the way a vulnerability blankets over them, and KJ feels a yearning for something she can’t entirely place.
KJ leans up on the mattress, looks at Mac for a long moment, and then leans forward and places a gentle kiss against the curve of her relaxed forehead.
Mac shuffles a little, eyes fluttering open tiredly, and KJ feels faintly apologetic for inadvertently waking her up.
“Hi,” Mac says, half awake, looking up at KJ.
With a tight feeling in the pit of her chest, KJ stares down at Mac for a moment longer. I want to kiss her, she thinks, and then she remembers that she can, and so she does.
But not before telling her, softly, “I love you.”
Mac makes a noise akin to a gasp, but it is silenced against KJ’s mouth, and KJ drinks up the feeling of peace that washes over her. She’s spent far too long being afraid of feelings… how they taste on her tongue, in the back of her throat, and how they spill out of her mouth.
She’s not afraid to love Mac, and she doesn’t want to be too afraid to admit it.
As KJ pulls back to settle against the pillow, she makes sure to give Lemon Pepper a gentle pet under the chin – she purrs, tilts into it a little, but doesn’t open her eyes.
When KJ looks back up at Mac, Mac is already looking back at her, to neither of their surprise. Anymore, Mac and KJ have spent a lot of time looking at each other – and, if KJ is entirely honest, she’s spent what feels like a lifetime staring at Mac, anyway, even if she’d been forced to hide it before.
Hell, she’d hidden it from herself, too, for so long. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, staring over at Mac, bundled up and gazing back; a mix of that familiar hesitance, the desire to run and hide from these feelings – and it’s always really been there, no matter how she wills it away. But there’s also the contentment, the domesticity, in such a visceral place within her.
“Goodnight, Mac,” KJ says, a smile fighting it’s way to her face on it’s own accord, and Mac looks at her blankly for a moment longer.
“Sweet dreams,” Mac shoots back, then, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly – a playful tone to her voice as she pulls the covers a little bit higher over her body.
They spend the day later shopping for things for Lemon Pepper – toys, food, kitty litter. For all of her reluctance a few hours prior, Mac seems pretty excited to shop for her. They spend nearly fifteen minutes in the food aisle, Mac pulling several items off of the shelf to compare them.
KJ leans against the parallel shelf, watching Mac silently, a heavy contemplation weighing in her mind. She feels as if there’s something just out of her reach – something she can just hardly notice, can’t quite make out the proper shape of. Something in the curve of her hand, in the way she bites her lip, the way she seems a little bit restless on her feet.
She doesn’t ask, though; stays silent as she watches Mac settle on a canned food, something seafood flavored with a little image of salmon on the container.
Lemon Pepper sleeps in bed next to Mac every night, curled up into her hip, and KJ watches, and she tastes something… something, on the tip of her tongue.
On the day they scheduled to take Lemon Pepper to the vet — a cold Wednesday, sky shrouded in gray — KJ wakes up earlier than usual to a lack of warmth. Blinking away the blur of sleep, she finds the only thing atop the covers on Mac’s side of the bed is the tiny kitten, curled up into a ball.
KJ watches for a moment, that blind panic of exhaustion washing over her and rinsing away, and by the time her mind has caught up with her, she’s already jumped out of bed.
For a moment, she stands still to rub the sleep from her eyes and right herself on her wobbly feet, and then she casts a glance at the kitten over her shoulder before leaving the room.
It takes KJ a few moments to find Mac.
It’s mostly because of the exhaustion; she doesn’t even think to turn on any of the lights, just walking sort of aimlessly through their hallways until she’s out in the dining room.
She just hardly catches a glance of Mac through the window in the living room; there’s the blur of smoke flowing up past the glare of streetlights and lit-up buildings. Still, upon seeing the vague silhouette of her pajama-clad legs against the morning fog causes something familiar and warm to blanket over KJ.
She purses her lips into a tight, tired smile, and slowly walks over to the window.
It croaks lightly beneath her touch, and she can see through the open air as Mac’s head whips to look over at her. The ashes on the end of her cigarette are just a little bit too long. KJ thinks it might fall off, flutter down to the concrete what feels like miles below their feet.
“Why are you up so early?” Mac asks automatically, leg bouncing a bit restlessly; KJ stumbles a little as she climbs out to join Mac, but she rights herself.
“ Someone left me all alone,” KJ teases, and something akin to a smile falls over Mac’s face for a moment. KJ takes just a second to admire it, heart a little bit heavy in her chest, but then she shakes her head and the thoughts fall loose.
She huffs quietly and sits down in the empty space on the step next to Mac. “What’s been up with you lately?”
Mac, to no surprise, scoffs and turns her head away; she always reacts this way on impulse when KJ tries to discuss emotions, or conflicts, or anything that Mac deems too vulnerable. KJ rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but takes it in stride.
Mac seems to struggle around her words for a moment, opening her mouth to speak but saying nothing; and the bouncing of her leg picks up a little. KJ subconsciously reaches out and lays her palm over Mac’s pajama clad knee.
A breath sort of stutters from Mac’s mouth as her gaze turns towards KJ’s hand, but the tension seems to fade from her quickly.
“How does it not stress you out?” Mac asks, voice a little shaky, as if the words are torn from her. KJ stares over, slipping her hand back into her own lap to rest there, but gently tapping her knee against the side of Mac’s leg for reassurance.
“How does what not stress me out?” KJ responds gently. Mac, in what seems like an attempt to keep calm, huffs out a heavy breath.
“The cat,” Mac says, strained, and then, “Taking care of something.”
“Oh.” KJ’s voice is almost impossible to hear beneath the sound of traffic, even at such an inhumane hour. Something shifts in KJ’s gut; something like the semblance of an understanding.
“I just—” Mac cuts herself off with something like a scoff, licking her lips; something KJ knows that Mac does because she’s afraid, because the words she wants to say are caught somewhere in her throat.
“I am my father’s child, you know,” She states, deflated. There's a futile attempt at lightheartedness in her tone. Like it’s everything and nothing all at once.
“Hey,” KJ speaks up immediately, and Mac meets her eye with something between attentiveness and irritation; she doesn’t want to face this beast, to open herself up to actual vulnerability, and yet… and yet she is. For KJ.
She’s trying, at least.
“You’re not him, Mac,” KJ tells her, pausing for a moment to reach out and grab Mac’s hand. Mac’s fingers twitch beneath her touch, but she doesn’t pull away. “I mean, if I was like my mother, I’d be in some stupid dress, married to some man back in Stony Stream.”
Mac busies herself playing with KJ’s fingers.
She’s quiet for a moment, before she laughs softly — it’s not exactly humorless, but it’s far more fond than amused. “Married already?” She asks, “You think?”
KJ laughs automatically in response, a little taken aback by Mac’s takeaway; and Mac stares at her as she does, a long and open stare.
The stars are hard to see in New York, so the streetlights and the buildings and the passing cars play their part to light Mac up; and KJ feels something faint, in the cold of the air and in the way Mac looks at her.
She doesn’t really know what it is.
Not until Mac says, “I love you.”
KJ’s breath catches in her throat; the cold mixes up with the adrenaline pumping beneath her skin, hands shaking restlessly. Without really intending to, KJ smiles, face a warm contrast against the winter air.
“I love you too,” KJ tells her, leaning forward to kiss her.
Her mouth tastes a bit like the cigarette she’d been smoking; the one she drops to the ground inadvertently, shaking from between her fingers where it’d been balanced.
KJ loves her no matter how she tastes, or acts, or speaks.
When KJ pulls away, the steam of her exhale flows up into the air shapelessly.
“I love who you are,” KJ tells her, then, grasp tightening reassuringly around Mac’s fingers, “And I love who you’re becoming.”
Mac looks akin to a kicked puppy; eyes all welled up as her stare shifts between KJ’s, like she can’t decide if she should laugh or cry. She sniffles, makes a strangled noise, and leans forward to kiss KJ again.
Something settles there, in the space between them. The cars roll along the streets, but the sound of them is muted to KJ by now. All she can focus on and all she can think about is this feeling in the pit of her stomach. This feeling, like she’s just about to grasp ahold of what it is to feel alive.
And she’s spent her childhood like this: running through the mud, dirtying her shoes, crying beneath the words of a mother. She’s spent her childhood running and running and running, but never quite taking hold; never quite making out the blurs of the woods around her.
She’s spent so much of her life surviving, until fear and unease has settled into something like home.
And here she is. It’s 1995, and she lives in her own apartment, and she doesn’t have to hear her mother’s voice yelling at her for dirtying her winter boots.
It’s 1995 and KJ Brandman has found something that her mother cannot touch; and the raw euphoria of realizing this erupts through KJ until she’s pulling away from Mac’s lips to giggle.
“What is happening?” Mac asks, a little dazed — lovestruck, if KJ hadn’t known any better… Then again, she knew well enough. “What’s happening? Why are you laughing?”
“Nothing,” KJ tells her, pursing her lips with a shrug of her shoulders; that teasing dismissiveness that always seems to grind Mac’s gears. A success, if the way Mac’s eyebrows furrow up is anything to go by. Still, still, she’s smiling.
She’s smiling.
“You’re really beautiful, Mac,” KJ says; and maybe it’s the exhaustion getting to her, causing her to be all embarrassing and cliche, and to say things she doesn’t entirely mean to.
She means it, though.
“Shut up,” Mac responds in all her nature, turning her face away to stare somewhere long and far. Somehow, maybe in that faint curve along her mouth, KJ knows that Mac believes it.
They stay out there for a little while longer, drinking up the music of the city. Sometimes it’s hard to sleep, especially with so much noise in comparison to a little town like Stony Stream. But sometimes, sometimes, the cars and the wind sing together like a lullaby.
After so long, after a life of walking on eggshells in a small town, the sound of the city begins to feel a lot more like safety. Nobody in those passing cars knows KJ Brandman. Nobody cares about her status, or the types of people she loves, or the type of a life she dreams of pursuing.
Words don’t really echo here. She could shout from the rooftops and nobody would listen to a thing, and it would fizzle out around the edges.
She’s not the rich kid, or the Jewish girl, or Nora Brandman’s daughter.
She’s KJ. She’s just KJ, here.
After a while, around the time that the sun begins to rise somewhere behind the rows of buildings, the pair stumble up and back through the window; KJ can feel a headache coming on from the little sleep, but she figures it’s worth it.
Although sunsets tend to be more their thing, there’s something nice about this — Mac and KJ sitting down at the kitchen island as the sunrise shines through the blinds. KJ makes the pair of them some breakfast, and Mac “helps” ( read, tries to crack one egg, and then makes a mess out of it and leaves KJ to clean it up), and the day fades into every other one.
There’s something notable about this, to KJ. The way life can change, and the way it never entirely belongs to you, and yet… KJ finally has something in her grasp. Not that it’s never going to slip away – she knows this much, that nothing lasts forever. But it doesn’t have to be forever. It’s hers.
She hopes that Mac can understand this, too. Reach some point where her father’s hands are far enough away that they can’t quite touch her anymore. And it still lingers over KJ at times; a whisper behind her ear when she passes certain suits or shoes in the stores, and she can hear it – a voice in the base of her skull, telling her not to take this too far. Not to give in to these sick impulsions.
And sometimes KJ yearns. Wants to reach out her hand to touch the span of the jackets, to feel the fabric on her arms.
And sometimes KJ wants to run somewhere further; because she’s so far away and somehow it feels like she can’t get far enough away from her mother to be free.
And sometimes, and sometimes, the winter rolls to an end and she gets mud on her boots – boots that her mother wouldn’t have let her worn back when she was a teenager. And she can still hear; her mother’s voice, shouting and telling her to act like a lady.
It’s hard to ever really… escape. And maybe KJ will find it out someday, like some secret to self-acceptance; how to wake up every morning and to not stare at herself in the mirror and feel so far away. Maybe she’ll figure out how to not miss it, somehow; when she’s staring at her reflection, one day she will not feel the ghost of Nora’s hands against her neck, her shoulders, her face.
Maybe one day Mac will look at the kitten curled up on the carpet in the living room where a ray of sun paints her gold, and she will not feel her father looming over her shoulder. She will feel like Mac Coyle, and KJ will look at Mac, and she will know this much; Mac, truly, is made of nothing but love.
And maybe they’ll end up keeping Lemon Pepper for a lot longer than they thought they would — because it’s so easy to love something, and to care for it, and to want to treat it well. And maybe it’ll cut like a knife to realize just how easy and how worth it it is to love.
Maybe, just maybe.
(Spoiler alert, they do. )