Page 80 of Windlass

“Yeah.”

“Why does this moment have to be the choice?” Stevie wasn’t sure she liked the obvious parallels in the conversation.

“I don’t know, I guess. It just does.” Angie tilted her head back as the comb’s teeth reached her crown. Stevie gathered the mass of her hair into a river down her back, sweeping the comb through in long, loose strokes. Angie’s spine relaxed, even with her shrug. The tangles were gone now, but Stevie kept brushing slowly, feeling the tension leaking out of Angie. Only when her hair shone did Stevie twist three strands from the top and begin the process of weaving a French braid. Angie’s temples felt incredibly fragile beneath her fingers as she swept loose strands into the gathering plait. She took care to smooth each lock, not because anyone would see the braid, but because it felt important somehow that Angie know it mattered to her.

The braid came together too quickly. She arranged it down Angie’s back, fussing with the way it fell heavily between her shoulder blades. In another mood she might have wrapped the braid around her fist and pulled Angie back into an embrace, but Angie was too brittle right now.

“I mean, my vote is a solution that lets her and her boo stay together,” said Stevie. “Unless you’re writing a tragedy.”

“Stephanie Ward,” Angie turned her head to raise an eyebrow, “are you a secret romantic?”

Stevie blushed, which was annoying. “I’m not sure wanting your characters to be happy makes me a romantic, but sure. If you say so.”

“Then how do I keep them together?”

This Stevie had an answer for. “Have the human make herself a pair of wings. She made prosthetics for batgirl after she broke hers. Maybe she can make herself wings, too. It’s fiction so you can ignore physics a bit. Then she can go with her.”

“You don’t think it would be better to have a bittersweet ending?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” said Stevie.

Angie gave a small huff of laughter.

“We never found you something to wear to this island thing.” Stevie changed the subject. She had the sense it didn’t matter what she said so long as she kept talking about trivial things.

“Lilian said she had something I could borrow.”

Rain began a soft, insistent patter.

“Lil has good taste. Except in cheese.”

“Are you still bitter about the faux-mac?” Angie glanced over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth tilting in a smile.

“Never forget. Never forgive.”

“Ivy’s good for her.”

Angie’s words surprised Stevie even if she agreed. The context of their conversation and all the things they were carefully leaving unsaid made any unexpected thing feel fraught.

“She is. God, imagine if they were still fighting instead of fucking.”

Angie laughed again and leaned back against Stevie’s chest. Stevie rested her chin atop Angie’s head and toyed with the end of the braid she’d pulled out of Angie’s way. She could not think about how perfect it felt to hold her like this. Angie nestled deeper against her.

“You know I wouldn’t be here without you, right?” Angie said.

“Yeah. You’d be on the ground if you leaned back without support.” Her heart picked up its pace, which Angie had to feel, given their proximity. “What do you mean by here?”

“My own business. My own house.”

“I can’t take credit for the house. Your Great-aunt Lesbian gets that one.”

“I could’ve sold it.”

“Don’t say such things where she can hear you.” Stevie swatted Angie very gently with her braid. “She’s a sensitive old girl.”

She did not deny the role she’d played in convincing Angie to take up the Seal Cove practice manager on her offer of a joint venture. Angie had been convinced she’d fail. Stevie had hounded her mercilessly until she relented and gave it a trial run to see if the location was viable before turning the management over to someone else.

Stevie had known the latter wouldn’t happen. Angie had too, she thought, somewhere deep down, but the likelihood of failure had been the lie she’d needed to tell herself in order to muster her courage. All Stevie could do was hope this was the same. There was only one thing Stevie lied to herself about regularly, and it was just how much she loved the woman currently lying in her arms. She couldn’t relate to Angie’s refusal to believe she deserved a single good thing, or her need to twist the lens until the truth was so out of focus she could pretend it was a different shape entirely.

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