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Casey absently shifted her weight from foot to foot. A brown leather briefcase was tucked under her folded arm and her purse dangled, the straps looped over the crook of her elbow and trapped somewhere between her tensed up bicep and forearm. Her hands were balled up inside her leather gloves, numb save the middle knuckles of her right hand, which stung after knocking on the door.
There was a good chance that Liz wasn’t home, and she felt foolish for having trudged this way in the snow. She should have tried harder for a taxi. And yet, despite the growing urgency of the situation, when Casey heard the sound of the bolt in the door and the chain sliding off, she had half a wish to flee after the flurries being swept down the street in the harsh winter gusts.
“Novak.”
“Judge Donnelly.”
Her white-blonde hair was longer than it was the last time Casey saw her, reaching past her shoulders with tousled layers and wispy bangs that fell past her eyebrows, and despite holding Liz responsible for ruining her career, that same old urge to run her fingers through Liz’s hair made itself known to Casey, although her self-flagellation in response to the desire could at least wait until she was inside and warmed up.
“I think Liz will suffice; I'm sure this isn't a professional call, seeing as… Well…” Liz grimaced and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hooded pullover.
If Casey were to wrack her brain for another instance in which she had witnessed Liz stumble over her words, she would have come up empty. Still, she couldn't stop her tongue from lashing, sharper than the howling wind: “Seeing as I'm not a lawyer anymore? That's what you were going to say, right? Thanks, by the way.”
“No need to thank me. You did that all yourself.” Liz sounded icier than the weather that had brought Casey to her doorstep, her discomfort apparently having abated with Casey's accusation. She withdrew her hands from her pockets and folded her arms, shifting her weight so that she leaned against the doorframe. “How nice of you to drop by in a blizzard to castigate me.”
Casey had not meant to antagonize Liz. Her inadvertent outburst had been engendered no doubt by the almost-remark about her career pushing her over the precipice of a year and a half of quiet heartbreak, and she rushed to explain about her train swapping lines mid-commute and the unexpected station closures before Liz could ask her to leave.
“So I got off at Herald Square but then I couldn't get a cab—”
“During a snowstorm on New Year's Eve, that close to Times Square? I'm shocked.”
“Well, anyways, a car ran just the wrong way through a snowdrift and…” Casey gestured down at her legs. The hem of her wool coat hit just below her knees, and the tops of her black snow boots ended above her ankles. Between, her slacks were soaked with now-melted slush, newly formed ice crystals clinging to the fabric that stuck to her like a second skin. “I had already walked a few blocks while trying to hail a cab and I realized I was close. Or, at least, you were the closest person I could think of.”
“I'm delighted.”
“Liz, I—” Casey started to say, on the verge of an apology for the unwarranted hostility after interrupting her holiday with no notice, but a shiver ripped through her, forcing a gasped inhale and setting her teeth chattering.
“Get inside, Novak, unless your intention is to cause me a load of paperwork by freezing to death on my stoop.”
“I didn't mean that you…” Casey started to say, still attempting to piece together an apology, but she found that the act of walking and talking at the same time was beyond her capabilities, and the expression that crept over Liz’s face spurred her into stepping over the threshold.
With the heavy door shut to the storm outside, Casey stood rigid just past the vestibule, barely daring to breathe lest the cold, wet wool of her slacks shift off her skin only to cast itself to her anew.
Liz slid Casey's briefcase out from where it was still pressed between her arm and her side and she laid it on the console table, which held a lamp on one end and in the center, African violets in a small white pot, providing a vibrant pop of purple to the stark, monochromatic foyer. On the lower shelves were two leather-bound legal volumes, a snake plant in another white pot, and a blue and gold glazed ceramic bowl that looked expensive and handmade.
Next, Liz pried Casey's purse from the crook of her elbow and eased Casey's arm to rest at her side. The purse was placed next to her briefcase on the thin table.
“When I said about you being the reason—” A shiver interrupted Casey again. Her tongue felt numb and her lips wrestled with the syllables. “I wasn't trying to accuse you of—”
“I should have had the foresight not to say anything about my expectations behind this being a personal call,” Liz said with a graciousness that Casey did not deserve but should have anticipated. “Chalk it up to me being momentarily stunned, finding you of all people outside my house.”
Liz pulled Casey's hat from her head and hung it on a peg on the coat stand, and Casey's leather gloves were tossed next to her purse.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be. I'm not unhappy to see you, despite what you might have convinced yourself.” Liz reached out to smooth down Casey's copper hair, leaving Casey relieved that the cold had already done its job painting her cheeks a soft pink.
“Let's get you out of this,” Liz said, her attention turning to Casey's coat, and Casey tried not to take the remark as anything but literal, but as long as Casey had known her, Liz had worn a roguish sort of expression that suggested the true meaning of her words was always thinly veiled between the lines.
As Liz worked on her buttons, Casey pressed the toes of one boot against the heel of the other and wrigged her foot out before doing the same on the other side. A moment later, with a squeak, she leapt sideways.
“Snow tends to melt.”
Casey scowled and used Liz’s shoulder for balance in order to lean over and tug off her soaked sock.
“I'll run you a bath,” Liz said, hanging Casey's coat on the coat stand. She retreated up the stairs, but stopped halfway up and turned to Casey, who still stood just in front of the mat in the doorway. “Or did you prefer to stand there all night?”
Casey hobbled after Liz on one sock, one bare foot, and shaky legs, her fingers pinching at the fabric of her wet slacks in a valiant attempt to hold them away from her body as she plodded stiffly up the stairs.
The tile comprising the floor and walls of the guest bathroom was a light grey marble that gave the bathroom a modern elegance. A white countertop and sink sat over a dark grey vanity that matched the tile above the tub, which was already beginning to fill with water hot enough that steam curled from the surface. A mint colored towel set hung neatly over the bar on the wall.
“I’ll lay out some clothes for when you're done. It'll be the room at the end of the hall. Do you need anything else?”
Casey shook her head, but after shrugging out of her suit jacket, the buttons of her shirt proved too challenging, and she called Liz back to the bathroom.
“My, um, buttons.” Casey gestured vaguely and tried not to read into the tiny smirk that she probably imagined playing on the corner of Liz’s lips.
Liz stepped close enough that Casey could feel her breath warm on her face as deft fingers undid the remaining buttons of her shirt from the top to the bottom. Casey's shirt hung open off her shoulders when Liz had finished, and the stolen glance at her chest was probably nothing more than wishful thinking.
“And your pants?”
Casey swallowed hard and nodded, wishing that Liz would look anywhere else but directly at her while sliding fingers beneath the waistband of her slacks. Once Liz had undone the button and painstakingly dragged the zipper down, she leaned forward, one searing hand against Casey's waist for balance and the other reaching out to the stainless steel faucet. The abrupt pause of the rushing water draped the room in a roaring silence.
“Anything else?” Liz asked, straightening up.
“I, uh, my bra.”
That time, Casey knew she didn't imagine the smirk.
Liz slid her hands from Casey's waist to her back and up, leaving trails of fire and gooseflesh under the shirt that hung off Casey's shoulders. Under her bra, Casey's nipples stiffened to hard points — whether from the chill or from proximity to Liz, she didn't know, nor did she want to know. She held her breath when Liz released the clasp.
Liz let her hands drop back to Casey's waist, and they lingered there before Liz wrenched herself away, shutting the door behind her. Casey didn't bother to lock it, but her hot bath went undisturbed. Afterwards, she found comfortable pants, a crewneck sweatshirt, and a pair of thick socks waiting for her on the bed.
“Feel better?” Liz asked as Casey came down the staircase.
“Much better, thanks.”
In the living room, a beige rug lay over the wood floor. Against one wall, a large flat screen television stood on a TV credenza. Across from it, on the rug, sat a long, cream colored couch where Liz was lounging with her knees drawn up and a book resting open against her thighs. The couch was grouped with two matching armchairs around a white oak coffee table.
The TV was set to the New Year’s Eve program on ABC, though, Casey presumed, only for background noise. The rug was soft underfoot as Casey ambled over to join her.
Liz peered at her from over the rim of her reading glasses. “Did you eat? I have leftover Szechuan from earlier.”
“I did, thanks. It's actually…” Casey let her sentence fall off, exhausted at the mere thought of explaining that her attendance at a work banquet was required at the last minute after a colleague called out sick, which subsequently meant returning to the office to finish the last of her time-sensitive projects. By the time she left, the storm was upon them several hours earlier than forecasted.
“Actually?”
“I got roped into a work thing. There was food.”
“How is work? Policy research somewhere down on Wall Street, right?” Liz sat up straighter, turning to face Casey and folding her legs. She set her book face-down in her lap.
Casey stiffened, suddenly hot all over. “How would you know that? You've been checking up on me?”
“I asked around.” Liz's brow furrowed, and she spoke as if she was curating each word with great consideration. “I wanted to know how you were doing.”
“Then pick up a fucking phone, Liz!” Casey cried, jumping up from the couch.
“Oh, you wanted to hear from me?” Liz asked, sarcasm leaching through her words. She tilted her head forward so that she could glare at Casey over the top of her glasses.
“I didn't,” Casey spat.
Liz let the absurdity settle heavy in the air. Casey folded her arms and turned away, walking back toward the foyer and stairs. She had wanted Liz to call her. More than anything, she had longed for any indication that Liz was still in her corner, that she hadn’t written Casey off as the sum of her worst moment. She had never wanted to hear from Liz again.
A rustling sounded from near the couch, and a moment later, Liz slipped by her without a word, heading down the stairs. Casey paced back and forth. Any moment, Liz would reappear and ask her to leave. But when Liz came back up the stairs, it was with two wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of red in the other.
“Champagne is more appropriate for New Year's Eve, but I’ve never liked it.”
Liz twisted the winged corkscrew with expert fingers. Her teeth caught her bottom lip as she gently pressed the levers until the cork worked its way out, and she poured a generous amount into each glass, wordlessly sliding one to the other side of the coffee table and looking over at Casey with an expression that asked her, very plainly, if she was through acting like a child.
Casey sighed loudly to let Liz know that although she was rejoining her on the couch, she was not happy about it. She turned the volume up, hoping that Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest would dissuade Liz from any more conversational endeavors.
It worked for a time. Casey sipped her wine and stewed in silence and stared at the screen without taking in a word. She glanced at Liz every now and again, and it scarcely occurred to her as odd when she caught Liz’s gaze as though Liz had been staring at her already.
“You didn't call either, you know,” Liz said quietly, almost drowned out by the band playing on the TV.
“When?”
“When I was attacked earlier this year.”
“I came to the hospital.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did. I sat by your bed for hours until Fin made me leave. Olivia called me when you woke up, and at that point, I didn’t see a reason to call because I knew you were okay.”
“Nobody told me that,” Liz said.
Casey shrugged. She took a sip of wine and shifted further away from Liz. Her side pressed against the armrest as though she was trying to melt into it.
Onscreen, the cameras panned over the crowd while the band played. Instead of a build-up of snow, there were rainbow puddles of oil and slush, but the flakes were still falling and the wind was whipping around
“Those people are idiots,” Liz said, a peace offering of sorts.
“Yeah.” Casey sipped her wine. “You didn't have plans?”
“I had tentative plans.”
“But then I showed up.”
“No, then a snowstorm showed up. And unlike some people” — Liz shot a sidelong glance at Casey — “I plan ahead.”
“You're very smug for someone spending New Year's Eve on her couch.”
“You're smug for someone spending New Year's Eve on my couch.”
Casey laughed in spite of herself, then shivered.
“Are you still cold? I can make you some tea or coffee.”
Casey shook her head.
“Well, there's room under the blanket at least.”
Liz held one side up, and under her gaze Casey reluctantly scooted herself closer until she was pressed against Liz.
The next thing she knew, Liz had an arm around her back and was shaking her shoulder gently. Casey rubbed her eyes as she oriented herself. She bolted upright when she realized she had been curled up against Liz. She looked over, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Less than ten minutes to midnight. I figured I'd wake you for the ball drop.”
“Thanks,” Casey said. She relaxed back against Liz, her head on her shoulder and watched through sleepy eyes until the countdown began.
When the ball reached the bottom, confetti exploded on the screen and, against the backdrop of raucous noisemakers, Auld Lang Syne began to play while the camera panned over couples sharing a midnight kiss.
“Happy New Year, Casey.”
“Happy New Year.” Casey sat up and looked at Liz. A hint of a smile ghosted over her lips.
For an ephemeral moment, she wondered how Liz might react if she kissed her. It was a foolish thought, one brought about by proximity to Liz and the promise of a fresh start that always accompanied the turning of a year. Casey pushed the idea from her mind, resigned to carry the sense of longing with her until it eventually lessened with time.
Liz, blithely unaware that Casey’s smile belied a speedrun of the five stages of grief, leaned in and kissed her — soft, chaste, not more than a few seconds.
When they parted, Liz frowned, as if only just processing the previous few seconds, and she met Casey’s gaze with a startled expression. Casey peered back, equally bewildered, and she leaned back in, neither soft nor chaste. She soon found herself straddling Liz with her fingers twisted in her hair, and Liz’s lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, and a trail of clothes marked their path up the stairs to Liz’s room.
* * *
Draped in a robe that she found tossed over a chair in Liz's ensuite bathroom, Casey stood before one of the bedroom windows, peering through the slats in the blinds at the sparkling snow piled high enough to keep her sequestered in Liz’s brownstone for the day.
She heard the rustle of sheets as Liz stirred and the light footsteps drawing closer until Liz molded herself to Casey's back.
“You're still here.” Liz’s voice was gravelly with sleep.
“Not my choice,” Casey said, but it sounded acerbic and she felt Liz stiffen so she added, “There's two feet of snow. I think you're stuck with me.”
Liz emitted a hum of contentment, and her warmth withdrew from Casey as she returned to the bed. Casey followed her, mortification threading itself through her skin with each step until she threw herself down on the bed and rolled to face away from Liz.
“I feel like I need to tell you that I don't normally cry after sex.”
“I would assume that you also don't normally sleep with your former mentor who you had feelings for for — What was it? Five years? — whom you believe betrayed you.”
Casey sat upright in a huff. “You knew?” she accused.
“Of course I knew. You looked at me like… like…” Liz gazed at her with a gentle smile.
“Like what?” Casey demanded, her heart hammering out a pattern of trepidation.
“Like you were trying to memorize me. You still do.”
Casey let a grimace answer for her. “This is so embarrassing,” she moaned. She slunk down in the bed and rolled to the side, turning her back to Liz, and buried her head in her hands
“No, it's not.” Liz's voice held back laughter, and Casey knew it would have been fond rather than mocking, but she appreciated all the same that Liz did not laugh at her.
“It is! God, I can't believe you knew.”
“I felt the same way in the end, didn't I?”
Liz’s admission lit a flicker of warmth somewhere in Casey's stomach, but she clung to the familiarity of her contrived humiliation a moment longer. “If the weather wasn't so shitty, I would be long gone and I would never be able to face you again.”
Liz did laugh then, and Casey melted against her as Liz’s hand trailed over her hip and past the robe that had fallen open, across her lower belly, and in between her legs.
Liz’s voice was soft and low in Casey's ear. “Then I’ll consider myself lucky that the weather is so bad.”