Archive of Our Own

It's late when the phone rings. So late that the numbers glowing on the bedside clock don't register through her blurry vision. Tangled in the sheets, the ringing continues, and her body shifts to compensate. Limbs coming back into consciousness take time, and the abruptness of it all causes the receiver to slip from her grasp before she even has a chance to answer. More alert now, but still not fully awake, she scrambles almost frantically to retrieve the lost handset from the side of the bed. Rushing, because time is ticking, and if the caller hangs up before she gets a chance, this entire interruption will have been nothing more than a waste of her precious sleep. When she finally presses the molded plastic to the side of her face, her voice comes out just as hurried as her movements but rough from the hours of unuse.

"Hello?"

But there's no answer. Instead, a prolonged silence is the only thing that meets Laverne's nighttime greeting. With eyes still closed, she considers hanging up. Only for a moment though, thinking that at this hour it must have been a bad joke or a coastal telemarketer with no sense of time zones. And she was going to, was in the middle of the motions, until she hears it. The smallest hitch of a breath. Somehow, even after all this time, and without almost any sound at all, she knows instinctually who it is. It's her.

"Shirl?" At the use of her nickname, that inhale turns into all too familiar crying. Her heart clenching painfully from God only knows how far of a distance between the both of them. She was alert now, sitting up and turning on her bedside lamp. It seemed like the right thing to do. The only thing she could do really.

"Shirley, are you alright?"

When she finally answers with more than just a bodily hint at her identity, her voice sounds like she has been crying far longer than this conversation warranted. Her words whispered, careful, like she was hiding out of earshot from someone else's perception. She hoped that wasn't the case. "I don't know." Laverne didn't like how unsure she sounded. Shirley was a lot of things. Excitable sure, impulsive sometimes, and indecisive yes, but never in matters like this, and it made her uneasy.

"Are you hurt?" The thought of Shirley hurting in any capacity makes her heart ache terribly, and while the conversation was certainly already pressing down on it painfully enough, her friend's distress doesn't make it any easier. But her concern seems to bring a fresh wave of sadness, louder, her speech catching in her throat in broken syllables.

"No, I just...and I... I-"

"Shirl, ya gotta tell me what's wrong?"

"I made a mistake." And in that moment, Laverne knows that she's lost her. The emotion coming from Shirley too much to handle with just comforting words from this far away anymore.

"I'm coming to get you."

"You can't!" A single yell, an impulsive kneejerk reaction, before it's quickly replaced by her whispering again. Shirley clearly remembering where she is and the hour at which she's calling. "You can't. It's so late, and it's too far. Laverne, I'm sorry, this was so stupid. I shouldn't have call-"

"And I said, I'm coming to get you."

"Verne."

"Shirl, is it the same address from that card?"

But instead of a quick answer, her question is met with a heavy silence. Hovering over them as it slowly envelopes Laverne and Shirley in a stalemate that lingers for far too long. It's an undefined quiet, where the unknowns in a cracked foundation of a relationship have their opportunity to creep, where choices hang in a delicate balance. That single decision where Shirley tells Laverne not to come. It would be another ending that Laverne didn't know if she was strong enough to take.

So the woman still tucked in her bed couldn't help herself; she dared to hope dangerously. Waiting right there on the edge of indecision, holding her breath until it felt like her lungs would give out with simply wanting, begging through the pained stillness for some kind of release.

And then there it was. A single "Yes" spoken so softly she almost thought she missed it; made it up in her mind, but it was there all the same. She could breathe again.

"Ok then, I'll be there in a couple of hours. Wait for me."

X

Without realizing it and with the phone still pressed between her nightshirt and chin, she had started dressing herself before she even had an answer from the other woman. Stupid really, but that unforgiving longing warranted action, and she couldn't help but listen to it obediently, pulling on mismatched clothing that wouldn't necessarily matter all that much in the hours when she finally reached Shirley. Nothing that trivial seemed to matter anymore, and yet when Laverne decides to grab a coat from the nearest closet, she's proven wrong.

At first the choice was for purpose, knowing that even though it was summer and the temperatures were warm, the middle of the night could be cold and unforgiving. And if she didn't need it, Shirley just might. She has no way of knowing what Shirley has or doesn't, and although the idea of her with nothing bothers Laverne greatly, it's not that thought that does it.

It's some of the past, stored in a three-by-four-foot space, that hits her when she pulls out the very jacket her friend had sewn her signature "L" back onto. Shirley, smiling smugly at her from her position on the couch, while Laverne pouted over something insignificant. It had to have been, because for the life of her, she can't remember why she even acted that way in the first place, but that vision of Shirley certainly hadn't faded. And looking at the haphazard stitching now, Laverne's fingers stopping briefly to trace the lines of needlework, the significance of a gesture completed almost a lifetime ago is not lost on her.

The lump currently in her throat is a reminder of that. Lodging itself so tight that it's unwilling to budge even when she swallows hard.

Deciding not to acknowledge it or the reason it's there at all, she scribbles a note as a quick afterthought. Knowing full well that the both of them will be back before anyone from her usual cast of characters has a chance to barge into her place. Still, she doesn't want anyone to worry.

X

Driving so long gives Laverne time to think, and she does, about Shirley. Her thoughts are usually occupied by her anyway, and this involves her so directly that it really can't be helped. And like all those other times before, she reflects on her grievances, the ones over unchanging issues. The same number of topics that she's tried time and time again to untangle, only to come back and find them knotted together again, setbacks when she thought she had made real progress.

They're about Laverne being left alone and ignored. About having to disentangle oneself from the identity of a duo she had gotten all too comfortable being in. Being unwillingly dismantled from a partnership with the one person she thought she could count on. It was a choice made for her that she didn't get a say in. One that brought with it its own sort of odd grief. Fresh wounds that would sting no matter where she went because someone would always ask about Shirley. Because the world thought of them that way: stable, settled, and together. Laverne did too.

But Shirley most certainly did not.

Because for Laverne, she saw how easy it was to be forgotten about. How all that they shared, and all they had been through together didn't matter all that much in the end. Initially she thought it had, because it had meant so much to Laverne, but in the two years that Shirley had been gone, she hadn't kept up her end of the bargain. Phone calls, visits, and letters were spoken as reassurances to ease the worry of a friend before leaving, when in reality they were like the phrases one puts in a classmates yearbook at the end of the year. Nice in the moment, but when one looks back, it's clear there was no intention of following through.

And initially Laverne was realistic about the expectations she had placed on Shirley because things do change. Life can get in the way so quickly that when it does, those communicational courtesy's take lower precedence. But it all had been a piecrust promise. One that started to flake apart before it even had a chance to bake.

She couldn't lie and say there had been nothing though, because there had been a postcard. One that arrived a couple of months after they separated, coming straight to her from a Florida vacation. It was sent with a message that held no real merit, undoubtedly scrawled beneath a sunshine sky and a sandy beach. She kept it regardless, putting it right under the fruit magnet that was already stuck to the fridge, watching her as she mixed her milk and Pepsi after a long day at Bardwells. Laverne hated it, and yet she kept it there in anticipation of more.

But after so long without anything, she truly didn't think there would be anything else, too comfortable in that belief, until a Christmas card showed up during their second December apart. It was the only correspondence she ever received besides that cardstock with the image of a tropical sunset, but it easily became her favorite between the two. Because unlike the postcard, which was generic and a little unfeeling, this one was different, vastly so. This card ending with an "All my love, Shirl" in her loopy penmanship and lacking any trace of Walter.

It had quickly joined the other, taking purchase under another novelty magnet, clashing with the rival season already represented there. But quicker still was Laverne removing it entirely. The paper with its yuletide cheer taunting her day in and day out, knowing what was lingering underneath the innocent charcoal smile of the snowman painted on the front cover. It was too hard to look at, too hard to deal with the wistful desire that was tempting her once again. Laverne did keep it though.

But unlike Shirley, whose silence spoke volumes, Laverne couldn't help herself; she wrote to her all the time. Sending the ones she felt like and scrapping the ones she didn't—the ones that said entirely too much.

That phone call was the first time she'd heard her voice.

But speaking to her once again dredges up something long since buried. A taboo that's been following her around for years. An off-limits acknowledgement that had snuck up on her so suddenly and so unexpectedly one day while she was still living with Shirley that she had no other choice but to ignore it completely.

But it's always there, not dependent at all on whether or not her friend is around, because it continues to live inside her. Breathe with her ever since Laverne figured out exactly why a smile or a simple touch started to make her heart race that much faster. She pretends that she doesn't, swears it must be coincidence, and Laverne DeFazio is a lot of things, but unfortunately stupid is not one of them.

So she continues to suppress it all. Something that got entirely too complicated when she was already grieving so much, but she manages the best she can. Pushing it down, removing it so much from her day to day, that sometimes there's barely any awareness left at all. But even that's only temporary because Laverne knows full well that she's not that strong when it comes to Shirley. Folding like a house of cards with just a look. It's already managed to rear its ugly head once again, manifesting while she continues to drive over darkened roads to reach her best friend.

She's afraid of what that means for them and for her. It's back and forth torture she puts herself through for the sake of their friendship. But she's fearful for the day when that truth finally decides to come out, where the unsaid bubbles up and out of her against her will, and her secret is no longer willing to stay just that. Because when that happens, it will ruin everything they've built together—a lifetime of friendship and memories.

The flipping of the coin is constant. It's easier to breathe with her gone and yet, coincidentally, harder. Easier because there wasn't that residual panic of a secret waiting to be spilled and simply harder yet because she wasn't there at all. Laverne didn't know what she wanted. What option would make any of it easier, and thinking about having to decide anything makes her sick.

But Laverne knows what she wants, of course she does, and she was driving towards it at this very moment.

X

When Laverne pulls up to the nondescript house, she hates that Shirley is already outside. It's dark out, and for just a moment she feels like yelling at her. Wondering just how long she's actually been standing there because she knows that anyone could be outside at this hour. And it's dangerous, stupid, and unsafe for a woman to be out all alone; even in a neighborhood that seemed as nice as this one, it shouldn't be trusted so easily. But every patronizing word planned dies in her throat when she gets out of her father's borrowed car. Because there was Shirley. The one she knew so well.

Beautiful.

Soft.

Like the day she met her and the day she left, but this time her eyes are shining with renewed tears.

So nothing is said between either of them. There didn't need to be. Especially when Shirley finally looks at her—surely not anything special just standing there in the street—and yet she still lets out one of the longest breaths she swears she's ever heard. There's no mistaking the relief that comes with it, and the action leaves Laverne feeling a little bit exposed, vulnerable, and uncomfortable when it comes to thinking about just how long she might have actually been holding it in.

But they were together again. Laverne had made it back to Shirley.

Helping her, Laverne attempts to take the single suitcase from her hands, Shirley giving it up willingly but admittedly a little clumsily too. Shirley's unspoken thoughts were so clearly visible, manifesting as an outward jumble of confusion. So much so, that when the baggage does change hands, Laverne thinks the other woman forgot that she even had it at all. But regardless of her concerns for Shirley, she still takes it, gets it put in the back before slamming the trunk closed. An odd symbol of finality that pierces through the quiet of the night surrounding them.

They need to get moving before Laverne runs out of steam. She's tired, and really she only has as long as the drive back before she drops completely. It's an odd juxtaposition for her because there's the need to comfort Shirley, to give her all the time she needs to work through some clearly big feelings, but the longer they loiter there, it's weakening her patience because they really need to get going.

Except Shirley doesn't move.

A frustrated exhale leaves Laverne before she remembers to exhibit some self-control while she observes her friends newfound hesitance. Out of all the times in her life she's argued with Shirley, she certainly doesn't want to make now one of them, but the way she's acting is so unfamiliar. And when someone who is usually so headstrong suddenly isn't, it can't help but manifest as an unpleasant feeling. Bringing up an intrinsic want to stop it all, to squash it down and stomp on it until she's back to her normal self. But unfortunately, life just wasn't that simple.

The wind whips uncomfortably around and down her shirt collar, calling for action instead of continued delays, but Shirley remains unphased and unmoving. And looking at her, still standing there, rooted to the curb, it causes regret to bloom. A single beat where the thought of this being a mistake takes precedence, amplifying a rash decision that might not have been all that well thought out before she acted. But it had been Shirley that had made that first move for the both of them, picked up the phone and called. Called her.

So Laverne could be the one to make the move for them now.

Acting on her behalf, she approaches with cautious hands. Arms positioned outward until they rest on Shirley's lower back. Ushering gently, it only takes a second for Laverne's touch to get her going, the physical somehow grounding her back to the present, except Laverne doesn't let up, a little afraid that if she does, Shirley might just change her mind.

When they're finally inside and seated side by side, the light above them casts a harsh glow over the interior, and for whatever reason for Laverne, that comes with an irrational refusal to look at Shirley beside her. But she wants nothing more than that. She wants for that light to hurry up and fade to black so she can have that chance. She wants to take her in, to tell her just how hard everything's been without her, and to fill her in on all those parts of herself that Shirley missed while she was gone. There was an ease that came with the dark, an absence of sight that gave her some courage to bring up the hard unknowns between them. But all that built-up bravado is quickly lost when Shirley looks at her first.

"You ready, Shirl?"

She nods furiously, a free hand wiping off the side of her face, clearly trying to disclose some fresh tears glistening even in the shadows. "Please take us home, Laverne."

And even though it's shaky, Shirley's response is music to her ears.

X

Laverne drives them both, street after street, highways and byways, biting her tongue the entire time. Trying her best to starve down the questions that threaten to spill out. There would be time for talking later; she knew as much, but her brain just wouldn't shut up.

"You alright?" Her unexpected question startles her travel companion. After cruising for so long with nothing but the low hum of a staticky radio station between them, she disrupts the ease of their atmosphere, and it causes Shirley to jump just a little.

"Oh! Sure, yes I’m... I'm alright."

"Too hot, cold? I can turn it either way."

"No, no, I'm just fine."

"Are you though?" There's a halt in conversation again on Shirley's behalf. Likely from the fact that Laverne's follow-up is loaded with far more subtext than the temperature inside the Sedan. The other woman knows it too. "What happened, Shirl?"

"Do we have to talk about it?"

"I'd like to think so. At least a little; I need some context here." But once again, in lieu of an answer, there's another huff of air, another beat of silence, so Laverne speaks to fill it. "I mean, jeez, it's just me. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

But clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because its suddenly got Shirley crying all over again. She hates herself for causing it to happen, pushing her friend too hard too soon, but unlike before, when she first heard it hours ago, she can do something about it now. Because this time its not being heard on the end of a receiver, there's no impossible distance keeping them separated; Shirley's right there beside her; tangible. And even though Laverne's still driving, there's an intrinsic need within her—the urge to comfort her friend properly no matter the distance they still had yet to travel. None of that matters right now, but she does. So the car slows, pulling over onto the shoulder, acting on intuition and years of simply knowing what the woman beside her needs the most in this moment.

Stationary, Shirley doesn't seem to know that the car has stopped, at least not visually anyway, because her hands are covering her entire face as her body continues to shake. Understanding arms wrap themselves around her in what Laverne hopes is a comfort, unsure when the embrace suddenly has Shirley's tears coming with more abundance, but instead of pulling away, her hold tightens all the more fiercely around her, wanting nothing more than for her to know she's cared for, safe, and understood.

When she shifts, Shirley's hold changes to. The other woman's face transitioning from its temporary cover to hide itself in the crook of her shoulder, hands now gripping around a waist instead. And even if Laverne has become uncomfortable with the way that she has to twist across the console to reach her, she'd never pull away, not when it's clear she's needed this badly. So she holds her steadfast, knowing she'll do so as long as she needs. There's no cliche platitudes spoken either, ones that tell her to 'stop' or 'it's going to be alright', because Laverne has no idea why this is happening. Doesn't know exactly what's been broken or how to go about helping Shirley fix it. So there wouldn't be any lying, at least not to Shirley.

Except there had been, just the one. Not a lie perse, but an omittance of sorts that pokes her in the side, relentlessly pestering her even now. But she can't give it any attention, not when she's engulfed in an embrace on the side of a road, god knows where, trying to be the stability that Shirley needs. "You don't have to say anything. I got you, Shirl."

"Tomorrow." And then Shirley's the one pulling away from her. Her friends sad eyes and tear-stained cheeks meeting her sympathetic ones.

"What about tomorrow?"

"Can we talk tomorrow? Everything is... and right now I just...I-"

"Tomorrow." And despite the sadness and the redness of her face, her barely there smile is a good sign.

Tomorrow will be better.

X

Eventually home comes into view. The apartment appears just as the dark sky is threatened with a sliver of light in the anticipation of morning. It's still and quiet, and when the front door is opened, the apartment is too. Patiently waiting for this pair to return to its embrace. Entering, the warning note is in the same spot it was left, quickly crumpled beneath steering wheel tired fingers so as not to reveal it was even written in the first place. It's not damning in any way, but somehow embarrassing. Its exhausting. She's exhausted. And looking at Shirley, she knows that she is too.

"Lets, uh...why don't we go to bed?"

"I-"

"I just mean back to sleep, huh. We're both tired. I know I am."

"But Verne..." Laverne's tired shoulders give her a shrug midsentence, hands up in a little bit of exasperation at her hesitation, knowing full well that no matter what Shirley decides, sleep is already calling her. But Shirley let off an involuntary yawn of her own, the action betraying the words that had been waiting on her tongue and making the choice for her all at once. "Ok, yeah...I uh...ok sure."

Accepting that answer, there's action in Laverne's movements, not waiting for Shirley to comply, but as she walks forward, she knows she's being followed. And all of it is strange and unsettling because she's headed to a place that's not unfamiliar to Shirley; she already knows where it is and where everything is really because it had all been hers once too. A once shared apartment and a bedroom that became less so faster than Laverne had wanted but even quicker was the role reversal happening now. There's no time to prepare, and when she steps through the threshold, it's somehow right back to being that shared space once again. It feels right. It feels foreign. It threatens to suffocate her entirely, but Laverne perseveres.

Without acknowledging anything that's happening, she tries her best to remain casual while passing over some pajamas from an upper dresser drawer that used to be hers. After she had moved away, Laverne had finished her first solo laundry cycle, thrilled not to have to sort her things from Shirl's, until she opened that drawer while putting it all away.

They sat there, tucked in, among an assortment of other items that evidently hadn't made the cut to come with her to her new life. Originally, Laverne had thought that they had been left behind in a simple oversight, belongings forgotten because she was too caught up in her excitement to remember them, but when Shirley takes them from her now and there's no trace of surprise on her face when she holds them in her own hands, there's a different thought that plants itself inside her. A fleeting one, but it's there just the same, that maybe Shirley had planned this. Not the circumstances necessarily, but maybe somehow she knew she'd be back and banked on the fact that the person she called her best friend once would keep them safe until she was. She was right.

But there was that hope again, coming back with a vengeance to wreak its unknown havoc. That damn optimism that made for such heartache, threatening, and filling the room with expectation. Only to replace itself rather quickly with a well-deserved guilt when she sees just how dejected Shirley still seems standing next to her.

Unable to be there any longer with her, almost drowning in the longing that's reared its ugly head, so suddenly, an excuse used grants her the reward of solitude. A moment to breathe, to force quick emotions back to a practiced calm. It's composing oneself for the night ahead, busying in tasks that unfortunately complete rather quickly.

Finishing, brings about an uncertain ending to this night, surrounding the actuality that Laverne will have to go back into the bedroom and share a bed with her friend. Share a bed, because unlike the clothing that Shirley had left in a drawer, Laverne hadn't felt the same way about her twin bed, ditching them both in favor of a queen. Something she hadn't exactly considered when she made the offer of sleep for the both of them.

She reasoned that she could sleep on the couch. She'd done so before when Shirley was sick with an unknown illness and needed the space to get better. They hadn't wanted Laverne to catch whatever it was then, and while it had worked, the roles were reversed this time because Laverne didn't want Shirley to catch on to anything that was happening. But if she doesn't go in there, then Shirley will know, find that missing puzzle piece, fit it in, and get a look at the bigger picture. And there would be no stopping her until she figured it all out. But after contemplating for so long, and with a fingernail bit too short with worry and indecision, there's the faint whisper of her name being called, an almost desperate plea. The choice is made for her a second time, and just like she did before she answered the call.

But laying in bed now, she knows she's made a mistake, the very reason for those earlier reflections physically with her in the same space. The heat that radiates from her under their shared covers a punishment for infractions still undisclosed. She's trying her best, with her eyes shut tight, face pointed toward the ceiling, and her body unmoving. Making a sad attempt to block it all out. A perfume, a slight shift, body heat. But lying there she knows its too much, too soon, consuming her, and she has to physically restrain herself from a lot of things. Of asking unwanted questions, of making any movement that might cause an accidental brush, of keeping those damn thoughts and feelings away that threaten to come out during the times when everything's silent. Its certainly quiet now, and the couch is looking better and better with each passing minute.

Because the time spent in this bed is slowly becoming one of the most challenging moments she's had to endure, and certainly the hardest she's ever experienced with Shirley by far. It was a sign that everything was changing in the blink of a singular night, and there was nothing to be done to stop it.

She knows it to be true when the bed begins to shake.

It's obvious what's happening then, opening her extremely tired eyes to find her in the dim light of day, curled up so much into herself that she's almost in the fetal position. She's crying again, and the sight of her like this is heartbreaking. Laverne's is certainly being tested just that bit more.

And yet, she's still just as attentive, snuggling up as close as possible beside her, spooning her slightly from behind. She attempts to console her, a little unsure that even after the course of events that led them here, Shirley will be receptive to the gesture. But she's rewarded when Shirley's hand finds hers. Gripping it so fiercely, and dragging it back across her body, until Laverne is left hugging her middle. Taking the hint, she holds her closer than ever. Shirley letting off an unsteady breath before her crying continues, her broken "Thank you" still managing to be said.

Without answering her back, Laverne squeezes her tighter, making sure that the woman to the right is fully encompassed. Nothing is spoken on her end; there doesn't need to be. No, "You're welcome" or other pleasantries need to be said because Laverne is crying now too. She cries for herself, for Shirley, and for the unknown future between them.

For tomorrow.

She just had no idea that Shirley was to.

X

Waking up, it's light out. Not blaringly so like the morning sun, but definitely mid-afternoon, and yet it still hurts fresh eyes pulled from not nearly enough sleep. It was a consequence. The promise of curtains that was never fulfilled. It was a "meant to" type of act that she was going to accomplish with Shirley; they had planned on it, but because they were them, it was continuously forgotten. Complaining instead every weekend, groaning together, when the rising sun was a wakeup call far earlier than any alarm. Each of those mornings causes a smile to bloom before the reality of any of it sets in.

Shirley.

Opening both eyes for good this time, they search for her, accompanying hands coming to a halt when they reach nothing more than an empty bedside. There's no trace of her. This friend that occupied Laverne's thoughts and even earlier the mattress beside her. At least, that's how it was remembered.

And between sitting up fully and rubbing sleep from aggravated eyes and putting all her focus on tightly tucked in sheets, there's reflection. Contemplation that makes her think that the entire series of events had been made up entirely. That last night, or early morning, or whatever time it was now was nothing more than a strange and hopeful dream. Irrationally, the tears show up with her disappointment, embarrassing really with how quickly they appear, until the present confirms the past.

A feminine humming, or a soft singing really that's suddenly started up from somewhere outside the bedroom.

Still clad in her nightshirt, a weird racing of sorts takes place. Her exit is restrained, but her heart is most certainly not when she stumbles upon the image of Shirley milling about and completely unphased by her sudden entrance. It was a mirage, for sure. Had to be. Barefooted and just so lovely in a green sundress while she prepared some type of food or another on top of the counter. It all felt like a dream, but it was undoubtedly reality, to many senses coming together at once to confirm what Laverne knew to be truth.

But it was an actuality where the past two years had still happened. That last night happened.

She had left.

But she had come back.

"Shirl?"

"Hm?"

"What a...what's going on?"

"I'm making us lunch."

"I see that, but uh-?

"Laverne."

"Yeah?"

"Sit and eat."

"Ok." And there's nothing but compliance from her, almost robotically so. She's always been shameless in her want to please the woman standing there in their kitchen, so she sits and eats like instructed, a following of sorts from Shirley taking place on the opposite end of the small Formica table. She barely takes bites, and certainly nothing is tasted, there's no stomach for it right now because it all feels too trivial. Too ordinary.

Especially as she watches her across the table and observes as Shirley, not emotionally compromised in any way like she was before, ignores what's happening between them. The faded signs of last night are still there of course, the redness underneath her eyes traceable, and a slight swollenness that makes her tiredness all the more evident, but she seems at peace, utterly content, and Laverne dared to say happy. Unable to play along with this odd transition anymore, the picked at lunch is discarded, and the metaphorical bullet is bit instead. This couldn't wait until tomorrow.

"Did you sleep?"

"A little." It's a sheepish admission, definitely not the truth, and the quick wave of a hand used to downplay actuality confirms as much. "I was thinking."

"Shirley-"

"Laverne."

"What's going on? I think I've gotta right to know."

"You do. Come on. Come with me." And then there's an impossibly quick transition. Watching dumbfounded as Shirley pushes her chair back and grabs at her so swiftly, there's little ability to process the change. "I don't want to do this in the kitchen."

Laverne follows on autopilot. Shirley's grasp only letting go when the destination of the sofa is reached. Her body language is nervous, her gaze one of avoidance, and the distance she places between herself and Laverne is a clear sign that her earlier composure is slipping. So when Laverne looks at her, sitting there on the opposite end of the floral cushions, it becomes easier to see the pain distorting her delicate features. It's whiplash that makes Laverne feel crazy while waiting for her to take the lead. Thankfully, she does.

"I want to thank you."

"For what?"

"Laverne? What do you mean for what, for coming to get me? For driving all that way and then back again. I think it's just about the most noble thing that anyone's ever done for me."

"Well, I'd do anything for you. You know that." Conveniently and thankfully, Laverne's undisclosed "Because I love you" remains unsaid.

At her honesty, it looks like Shirley's trying her hardest not to cry. Laverne was always able to read her with ease, and she knows she's right when she offers a slight nod, swallowing hard before her next sentence. "Right, yes. I know that. I do... and that's why this makes everything...so-so hard."

Silence. More waiting. Nervous hands biding time by smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in polyester.

"Shirl!"

"Right! Ok, ok... I said I was going to tell you, and I am, I promise." There's a deep breath taken, a buildup of courage, a beginning. "I said it last night, and I know that it doesn't make much sense, Laverne, but I really, really messed up."

"Whaddya mean? How did you mess up?"

"Walter. Leaving. Everything I did until I called you. It was all... just one big mistake after another."

This time it's not Shirley's end of the couch that's quiet. It's Laverne's. Because that hope is back, twisting itself familiarly into her gut. It's dangerous once again, but she's a little tired of playing it safe. And although she knows she’s so close to setting this whole thing on fire, she still lights the match.

"I should never have left you. Or our life here, Laverne."

"But you did." The words are true, but there's also a guilty want when she says them aloud. A desire for them to sting. For the other woman to feel a small fraction of the hurt and the loneliness that Laverne had to endure when she disappeared. A consequence for the grief she was forced to experience and the longing that she still hadn't fully processed or admitted aloud. But watching her face when they're spoken, when the words hit the target as intended, the regret of that want is instantaneous. Shirley was too good for it. She didn't deserve it.

"I did, you-" Another breath before Laverne's guilt carries on. "You are absolutely right. I did leave. If it's worth anything at all, I cried when I did. I made myself so upset that I actually got sick from it." A slight hallow laugh escapes her. It's hard to hear, but it makes her next words even harder to listen to. "I went to see a doctor, if you can believe it. But nothing...and I mean nothing I did, or said, or the people I went to see seemed to stop it any of it."

Her gaze is so honest, so vulnerable, and so raw that it was hard to be under at all, but despite that, the focus on her remains unwavering. "With the exception of last night, that is. I was suffocating completely, and I knew... you were the only one that could help me breathe."

"You hurt me. I won't lie about that." Her face falls even more at the honesty, but she's not stopping to comfort because she needs to get this out too. "I know you left to be with Walter, but...I was so—god, everything without you got so hard. I mean, you at least had someone to lean on, but I... I had to pick up the pieces of our life all by myself and live it alone for the first time in so long. Do ya know what that feels like?"

"No. I don't. And I'll probably never understand what I put you through. I know I hurt you deeply, Laverne. I know that. I lived...I still live with it. That's why when I reached out, I just-I panicked. Because I wasn't sure I would ever have the opportunity to make anything that I ruined right again."

The silence is deafening once more, but thankfully she doesn't let it linger. "Going with Walter was... well, I don't know what that was. I guess I got caught up in it. I do that. Get excited and roll with something, and I thought I was getting what I wanted, but, god, it was such a failure. I wanted to come back so badly. But I thought, no-no, just give it some time; it's all still so new. But when nothing got better, I literally couldn't even admit to myself that I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I wanted so much to leave, but instead of being brave and doing just that, I isolated. I couldn't reach out because I didn't have the heart to lie about my life. To tell you everything was sunshine and rainbows when it very clearly wasn't."

"I wouldn't judge ya for something like that, though."

"Of course I know that. I do, but when it's actually happening, it's so much harder to admit. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I mean, I had already let myself down, and I couldn't put all those sorrows on you. I would never lie to you, Laverne."

"I know."

"So I won't lie to you now."

She grips her hands together so tight across her lap that her knuckles turn white. It looks painful, and there's a want to reach out, but instead eyes are forced back to her face. She focuses her own on the floor. "There's...there's just so much more to it than what you even think. And I don't...I can't..."

"Shirl?"

"I want to say something, something that I've been struggling with... but I... I don't know if you'll still want to be my friend, or even know me after I do."

"Oh, come on. I'd never-"

"I'm so serious, Laverne. You have to listen to me; really listen."

"Jesus, ok, ok, but your scaring me a little here."

"I- well there's...a very real possibility that what I'm about to say will change everything between us, and not exactly for the better."

"I'd still like to hear it, and besides..." A quick glance in the opposite direction helps Shirley catch her quick shrug and sad smile. "Everything's already changed."

"I loved Walter. I'm sure that I did on some superficial level, even Carmine for a little, but none of that—it was never. It was never like I loved..." Her ending is torturously left unsaid, trailing off in a simple puff of air, but there's an insurmountable distress in the need to hear it. The omittance that causes eardrums to pound painfully with that need. Almost bursting with it. A heart beating so loud in anticipation, pumping out a rhythm of desperation so severe, there's not a single doubt that she can't hear it even with their physical distance.

So when the damn lump finally moves aside, dislodging itself from where it's resided for so long, there's no stopping it, and Laverne throws the match. "Who Shirley? Who do you love? I...I need to know."

Her gaze is focused. Locked in place. Honest, open, and more than anything fearful. "You Laverne." And with a gentleness almost missed, the pounding in all the senses reaching a fever pitch on the inside that makes it hard to concentrate on anything at all really, her hand slides delicately across a bare knee. A diminutive hopefulness is now in her glassy eyes. Caution being taken even with her boldness. "Don't you see?"

"No, no, I don't think that I do."

"I love you, Laverne. I think I always have."

"You, you just said...you what?" With brows furrowed and mouth agape, there's a few sharp intakes of breath, where she tries and fails to formulate a coherent response. But with the shock of Shirley's admission hitting so forcefully and so unexpectedly, Laverne can't help but be stunned into silence.

The emotion in Shirley's voice is thick and sounds constricting when she offers her an "I'm so sorry." But her friend is misreading everything. The reaction given to her confession is confusing, no doubt, but there's too much happening to deal with any of it reasonably, and catching up appropriately seems impossible. "I'm just so sorry, Laverne. I know... God, I know. I know how this sounds! It's not right. None of it is. To have feelings like this for a woman? For your best friend? But if I didn't... if I didn't say something to you now, I was so afraid I'd drown in them even more than I have been. I'm just so sorry I've ruined everything for us now. I'm sure you-"

"You love me?" It quieter. Softer than before, but Laverne's still just as confused as the new reality continues to settle itself. One hand goes towards Shirley, changing its mind at the last second to rub over her own face instead. The recipient of the gesture is still having a difficult time making sense of everything. "You love me, Shirl? Like as in-"

"Yes, just like that. I...I do. I just didn't know how deeply I felt like that until I left. I didn't mean for this—and I just. I'm so sorry."

"I, and you-" But it's clear she's made Shirley uncomfortable, her hand retreating from its resting place against her almost immediately after her truth is out. It's a shift that silences Laverne with new panic because Shirley can't let go. She needs her touch so badly that there's a frenzied reaching of sorts, a tug until her hand is secured once more. Not for one second does she want Shirley to think that she doesn't want this. So squeezing tight, she holds on, but there's also an additional need in the gesture. She needs something to tether her back to the hear, and now, back to what's really happening, her touch might be the only thing that's real. Shirley just might be.

"You don't have to say anything. Ever, if you don't want to. I know this is so much to take in. Too much to process. It's not fair to you that I even confessed something so, so...and I don't expect you to—"

"I love you to." And there it is, her long-kept secret laid bare, released as natural it seems as breathing. It bubbling up from where it had been kept prisoner for years, and instead of it being painful like it was thought to be, it was completely wonderful instead. Freeing and beautiful. So it's spoken again and again, and one more time for good measure. "I love you, Shirley Feeney."

Those words feel like they've had an entire friendship, a lifetime really, of being held back. So saying them now, the release of those words finally unburdened, dislodges something else from Laverne that's unexpected. It's laughter at first. Loud and clear and bright, until the mirth morphs itself, jumping so quickly to sadness that there's no time to push it back. And when it hits in its entirety, its suffocating really. All encompassing. The tears falling with a recklessness that's so unforgiving there's really no chance at staunching their flow.

Struggling for breath. She reacts instantly, coming to comfort. Her body wrapped around her, tangling them together, just like they had been in the car hours prior. Except this time Shirley's the one healing. Helping with touch that's been wanted for so long. It's a relief but also a catalyst, and it causes another sob to cry out.

"Laverne, you've got to stop. You're going to make yourself sick. Come on." And she helps, breathes alongside her in a lamaze for two women in their 30's being irrational to mutual feelings once buried finally coming to light. Embarrassingly, it takes some time, but like everything else, the chaos eventually levels off. And when the calm is back, and when her ability to think somewhat rationally returns, there's really only one thing left to do.

"Shirley, can I kiss you? I truly think I'll die if I don't."

She gives a playful eyeroll even with the lingering tension. A "So dramatic Lav-" before she cuts her off with an overly eager mouth, taking solace in the fact that Shirley was already smiling when she leaned in.

The touch of their lips meeting is everything all at once. Everything is healing, whole, and home. Its Shirley and Laverne. Laverne and Shirley. How everything was always meant to be. A moment that they had unknowingly been working toward the entire time they'd known one another. And it made one feel alive because there was no way that anything from this point on would ever top this first kiss shared with her. But Shirley was the only one she was willing to try and prove it wrong with.

Parting eventually, for air and to relieve the ache in position, the smile Shirley has on her face is the brightest one Laverne's ever seen. Knowing she's the cause makes her feel light, giddy, and so happy that she's a little lightheaded. And it's then when Laverne knows that the one on her own face is much the same.

"I love-" "I love-"

More laughter out loud. Shared this time as mutual starts of the same sentiment collide into one another. A second shared kiss. This one lighter than the first but still just as wonderful.

"How long have you felt this way, Laverne?"

"How long? Shit, years Shirl. Too many years to remember. I feel like I forgot when it even started"

The other woman looks completely surprised by that fact, but ever brave, almost emboldened by Laverne's own admission and the kiss they just shared, she admits her own truth. "I don't think I knew, really knew until I left. Until I was alone with... well with Walter. I... it had always been so natural with you. Me coming home after work, a date, or even just getting us groceries. I wanted to hear about your day; go out with you; do absolutely nothing at all. I wanted to be with you always. Because everything was better with you. I knew I was better with you. But with Walter..." She shakes her head as if trying to banish it all away. "Everything was so different. I wasn't like that. It was work to even exist in the same space. He was nice enough, so nice, and nothing ever...I mean, I don't think anyone could have a chance when they were competing with your ghost. Not really anyway."

Silence again. But certainly not uncomfortable. Companionable. Relief.  "And eventually, when I was crying myself to sleep more nights than not, missing you and what we shared so deeply, I realized that I loved you. More than a friend should love a friend. And I also think I knew that somewhere deep down, I had always felt like that, and that's what made my leaving so hard for me. And I really didn't want to deal with it because, truthfully, it scared me. It still does a little, but I knew I just had to try. The not trying was getting harder and harder to live with."

"I'm sorry, Shirl. Sorry that you had to go through all that. Ya know, I hate it when you're sad."

"I deserved it though because I hurt you. Put you through so much pain."

"Jeez, this isn't a tit for tat! Don't say something like that. You don't deserve to be hurt. I'm just sorry there was nothing I could do to help you."

"I wouldn't have let you."

"But even not knowing what was happening, I wanted to."

"But you did Laverne. You did. You were there for me when it mattered most. After two years of silence, after not giving you any reason to trust me at all, last night you dropped everything for me."

"And I'd do it again. Always. No matter what happens between us."

Shirley's face takes on a dreamy look at that. Something she's seen countless times, but finally having it directed at her is so fulfilling she couldn't look away if she tried. "And I love you for that. I love you for far more than just coming to pick me up, but when you did... without question, without any hesitation at all, I just... I could breathe. Laverne, that hole inside me was gone, just like that. You rescued me."

She reaches for Laverne's other hand, holding them both securely in her own. Shirley's gaze piercing Laverne's. "But during our ride home...when you were still so sweet and patient with me...I just...I couldn't talk about it. I felt like I was lying to you. And when the reality of what was happening sank in, and the thought of having to admit this to you... I just- I felt like I was treading water all over again."

"And now?"

"I don't feel like that at all. This morning, or well, I guess afternoon now, was just so, so normal. Felt so, routine, it was like being comforted with one big hug all at once—it was healing really. I feel like myself, like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be. I'm so sorry I left you, Laverne. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"Shirley, you don't need to apologize anymore. It's alright."

"Are you sure? I'm not too late."

"No. You have all the time in the world."

And this time Shirley kisses first. It's no less exciting or lovely than the two shared before, but it grows more insistent the longer she keeps at it. Shirley's hand slips around her neck, Laverne's boldly gripping her waist. Motions so natural, it felt like they had been doing this for far longer than a couple of minutes on a sofa.

And feeling Shirley smile now, against her, one thing was for certain. It was not too late. It was just beginning.