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Jul 26

Liturgia

Chapter 25: Somos Dos, No Importa Dadie Más, Si Hay Amor el Resto Llegará

Pairing: Ava Silva & Beatrice

Ao3

There’s a playlist and a mood-board.

Author's Note: I wanted to come back to the story and had a little bit more of them to share. After this bonus chapter there will be one more.

“Alright.” Everyone gathers around Ava for the pre-show huddle. “This is it,” she says, voice shaky and on the cusp of cracking.

It’s been a long nine months. There are a lot of emotions tonight as Beatrice scans the many faces that have made the tour possible. From the tech and crew members to the orchestra, choir and dancers. They’re all smiling as they regard each other. There’s a bittersweet feeling to it. All relieved and elated to finally be done with this massive undertaking, but also a sense of loss. Of having to say goodbye to the small family they’ve built.

“We’ve been together for so long now that it’s hard to imagine that this is the last time we’ll all be together in the same space like this,” Ava swallows, she’s doing her best at putting on a strong front, “I know a lot of love has gone into making this happen. A lot of sweat and tears. I just wanted to say just how grateful I am to everyone. Without each and every one of you this wouldn’t have been possible.”

Everyone is nodding along. Containing their tears as Ava continues her final huddle speech. It’s unrehearsed and honest. Some of the dancers hold hands, further cementing the bonds that have been made and the friendships that will continue long after the tour. Alice wipes at the corner of her eyes and pretends like dust has wandered inside as Levy catches the action and zeroes in on it. Teasing material filed away for an opportune moment.

“I want us to go out there and just have fun and enjoy ourselves,” Ava goes on, “This tour has meant a lot to me. It has given me the freedom to speak my mind and truly be myself. I hope it has been the same for you.” She steps into the circle, gearing herself up to do the pre-show chant. “So, will everyone please join me…for the very last time…”

They all huddle close, wrapping their arms around each other. An arm stretches out to grab Alice who doesn’t miss a beat, grabbing Beatrice who then grabs Levy. Ava smiles from the center, moving her hand delicately. It’s a separate entity from her arm, her wrist twirling like a leaf in the wind. Slowly at first then faster as she spins in place. They clap along, the tempo increasing as Ava’s hand flows faster and faster.

“¡Y reina y reina, y guapa y guapa! (And queen, and queen! And beautiful, and beautiful!)” They chant as Ava flicks her wrists and does a quick dance for all of them to join in. “¡Y reina y reina, y guapa y guapa!” It all descends into chaos after that as they all celebrate together, dancing along while clapping and shouting.

“¡Y reina y reina, y guapa y guapa!”

As the dancers and choir members begin to take their place, Beatrice scurries to Ava’s side. “Don’t forget the headpiece,” Ava instructs right away, wobbling with a combination of uneasy footing and the struggle of a worm emerging from compost. The white sheet newly wrapped around her body constricting her movements and doing a surprisingly good job at hiding her outfit and heeled boots.

Beatrice dismisses the curtness behind the words for what it is—Ava is feeling a lot right now. Choosing to focus on the show and its presentation rather than her emotions. Beatrice knows what to do though, gently tugging at Ava’s free hand and kissing her wrist. “Yes, my love. Alice has gone to get it,” she says, tucking back a stray strand of hair behind Ava’s ear, “How are you feeling?”

Emotional whiplash probably. All the work and effort it takes to continue. Day after day. Concert after concert. Thoughts about the tour taking up residence and making it impossible to exist outside of it. Not knowing the comfort of your own space. For months. “I’m okay,” Ava replies, it’s low. Almost a whisper in the chaos backstage. “I’ll be okay.”

“Hey…”

“Hmm?” Tears are welling as Ava fans her eyes, keeping her makeup from running.

“Tell me what’s the matter,” Beatrice says calmly, encouraging Ava to speak freely.

“I just feel out of sorts,” Ava answers, caressing Beatrice’s hand in hers. “I’m happy to finally put the tour behind me. And to be able to close it here—at home…it’s indescribable. Coming to terms with this monster of a project coming to an end. With its loss. I fear it. The unknown. The moments between. I—I’ve learned things about myself and lost little bits of me along the way too.”

Beatrice nods.

“But I guess that’s the price we pay, isn’t it? To be away from the things we love and the things we hate, which in a convoluted way makes us who we are.” Ava pinches her eyebrows together. “I’ve been so lucky to have you with me. Every time I wanted to run or hide I looked to my side and found you and your comfort there. I didn’t think I would need you this much. Or could ever imagine how different everything has been with you beside me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t be silly, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.”

“Is it okay that I’m sad it’s over?”

“Yes. Especially for a project like this.” Beatrice meets Ava’s eyes from their sweep of the floor. “But that’s life, things only last for a moment.” Ava picks up her head and nods. It’ll take some time for everything to sink in. Beatrice is well aware of all the feelings coursing through Ava at the moment. The readjusting that will take place after tonight. In a way, an unfreeze of time to let both their lives play out once again.

Alice beelines to them with a black ornate feather accessory in hand.

The honour falls to Beatrice tonight. Here in Madrid. Finally.

Beatrice takes a hold of the headpiece. Instantly, a sense of excitement and unease washes over her. Goya’s painting ‘El Aquelarre’ (The Coven) circles her mind as her eyes examine it closely. She hasn’t touched it, even after all these months. It’s been passed down to friends of Ava’s, The Cruciforms, labelmates, other industry colleagues and VIPs. But tonight she’ll be the one to set the large goat-like horns atop of her wife’s head.

The depiction of the Devil itself.

It was Ava’s idea, of course. Clear mockery and disdain towards the negative reactions and the backwards witch hunt they had to endure mere days after taking their vows. And now it’s Beatrice’s turn to pull out the metaphorical middle finger.

“Beatrice, don’t forget the headpiece," Ava reminds her again. There’s a hint of nervous irritation at her inopportune musing.

“I’ll remember,” is what Beatrice scrabbles out to say as two dancers grab her by the arms and the hood of her cloak is pulled over her head. They take her from Ava to the space behind the raised diamond platform where other white hooded figures are waiting, equally spaced along its edges.

Light recedes around them as the arena’s floodlight systems are triggered, signaling the start of the concert. The apparatus shielding them from the audience is holding a colossal sized canvas of woven linen stretched over a wooden frame. Its mechanical gears turn, initiating a chain reaction for the entire contraption. The adjacent gears rotate in the opposite direction and the canvas comes apart at the middle, slowly revealing the staging to the awaiting crowd.

If it weren't for her in-ears Beatrice would surely be deaf. The roar that takes over the arena is unrelenting. Phones held up to record every moment that passes as the canvas pulls apart. Onlookers gaze in wonder as they are transported to the world within the painting.

Ava is lost amidst countless white satin and tulle sheets, her brown wavy hair the only indication of a human form outside of the tousled fabric. The earlier excitement from the crowd dies down as Ava lays motionless in a black void—apart from the spotlight suffocating her.

Seconds stretch to incomprehensible levels. Complete silent reverence as everyone is taken aback by the splendor of light and shadow before them. A white haze of smoke begins to creep through the stage, adding to the eerie atmosphere that has descended upon them.

The boundary is instantaneous. The separation is clear.

Dividing the tangible from intangible. The divine from the earthly.

Without a second to waste the orchestra string section explodes à la Vivaldi’s 'Winter', bombarding the space with a gale force that demands attention.

(Y)(S)

Seine Angst ist meine Angst

(His [God’s] fear is my fear)

Seine Wut ist meine Wut

(His rage is my rage)

Seine Liebe ist meine Liebe

(His love is my love)

Sein Blut ist mein Blut

(His blood is my blood)

The hooded figures chant—an echo of Ava’s consciousness brought to life—watching from afar as she prepares to make herself vulnerable before them. They lay witness to Ava’s confessions. The divulsion of sin and desire for absolution.

The screen behind white sheets at the back of the stage pulsates, further enveloping them all in shadows, but not Ava. She remains in her canopy of light where she raises her hand and holds the microphone to her lips.

Die Flamme dringt in mein Gehirn ein

(The flame penetrates my brain)

Wie ein Blei-Teddybär

(Like a lead teddy bear)

Ich bewahre viele Dinge in meinem Herzen auf

(I keep many things in my heart)

Deshalb ist mein Herz so schwer

(That’s why my heart is so heavy)

Ava sits up as the choir takes over again, placing most of her weight on her elbows, knees bent. The sheet falls from her shoulder, purposefully revealing the edgy dress underneath with its deep V neckline, barely laced above a blush-toned bra in deep contrast with the rest of the ensemble. She sits at the edge of the raised platform, the white sheets turn like ocean waves underneath her with every movement. Holding out her left hand, she reaches out to the audience with a plea.

Yo se muy bien lo que soy

(I know very well what I am)

Ternura pa'l café

(Tenderness for coffee)

Solo soy un terrón de azúcar

(I am just a lump of sugar)

Sé que me funde el calor

(I’m aware that heat will melt me)

Sé desaparecer

(I know how to disappear)

Cuando tú vienes es cuando me voy

(When you appear I escape)

Fear is what Beatrice feels when she hears this song. But the first time it had been pure terror.

Ava had carefully sat by her on the night of The Cruciforms’ first concert, just a week after finally figuring themselves out in Madrid. It was late and they should have probably gone to bed but she had insisted it was important. The way Ava had navigated the maisonette had alarmed Beatrice. She hadn’t rushed in like the Ava of the past. She was hesitant, wary of things she could come across if she wasn’t careful. Too conscious of finding traces of Sarah if she looked too closely.

Beatrice had tugged on their clasped hands and walked the short stretch into the bedroom where Ava’s pajamas were neatly folded and waiting. Yet, Ava’s apprehension had remained. Not just for her surroundings but for what she was about to share. A vulnerability that was necessary now more than ever.

At first it had just been a blind listen. Headphones on with an eerily silent Ava beside her. A bombastic baroque assault to the ears. Ava’s voice reaching operatic levels—completely out of her element and proving Beatrice wrong once again. They both sat petrified. Unable to communicate the raw emotions seeping through the song.

The surreal dreamlike mood lifts as lights above the stage come on one by one as the dancers advance towards Ava, Beatrice among them. They walk through the fabric cloud landscape. Choir members remain still, their voices reverberating all around them, continuing the never-ending verbal flagellation.

This is divine intervention

Ava stands, turning towards Beatrice. Earsplitting screams pierce their in ears, many fans already know what is about to happen. They’re all eager to see who it will be under the hood. Many of them have been speculating that tonight will be Beatrice’s turn. As the orchestra recedes in its intensity, everyone waits with bated breath as Ava reaches over to pull the hood back from Beatrice’s face.

Beatrice inhales and closes her eyes, clutching the headpiece tightly in her hands. When she opens them again it’s to Ava’s devastating smile and endearing eye crinkles. She holds the headpiece above Ava’s head, carefully placing it amid the myriad of camera flashes and screams. On stage they all stand for effect, and Beatrice watches in complete delight as Ava succumbs to the persona she’s about to embody.

And then it's back to business. But unlike everyone else before her, Beatrice stays. They work quickly, doing away with Beatrice’s robe while ignoring the cacophony of noise encompassing them. Dancers rip open their robes to reveal varying styles of modern ebony suits and ruffled white collars just like Beatrice’s.

[Performance]

The only way to save us is through divine intervention

Ava spreads her arms as the dancers surround them, inviting them in. They plunge into darkness, moonlit by a singular spotlight behind them, the ethereal white canopy long gone. Ava’s great horns flow and cast shadows above as they move in practiced synchronized slow motion. Her hand comes to rest on Beatrice by her chest as she enchants them all into a dance—initiating the coven. Under her spell the dancers turn to face the audience beguiling them to Ava.

The only way I will be saved is through divine intervention

The movement of the song came to Beatrice in waves. A repetitive assault of the timpani solidifying and breaking any and every instance of peace. It unsettled her. Beatrice had caused this. Had caused Ava’s maelstrom of emotions. As the strings swelled her heart ached, the feeling of a knife cutting into her very flesh. Over and over again. And then, a foreboding calm that descended into a nightmare.

Ava explained some time later, as they laid in bed, in the comfort that darkness allowed. She had struggled to cope after the events of Milan. That the song had come to her in parts. An unrelenting repetitive phrase that continued to haunt her. An inundation of thoughts about her shortcomings, thoughts she shouldn’t have dwelled on. And finally her breaking point after the Grammy’s.

All working to conjure forth the haunting composition.

I'll fuck you till you love me

Till you love me

“When you left all I could think about was what I had done—how I had hurt you. What you must have been thinking while we held each other,” Ava murmured into her chest, “How a night with me could change things for us if I had just loved you the way you wanted me to.”

Beatrice breathed in sharply, tugging Ava closer. “I wasn’t thinking that at all, Ava. I was just happy to be with you.”

“Really?”

“I remember double checking the time for the Vogue interview and seeing when I could get back to you. I was hoping we could talk when I got back,” Beatrice said, barely holding in a small laugh, “Maybe send Alice and Levy on a manhunt for The Last Supper tickets. It would have been impossible but seeing them scramble would have been funny.”

“I was an idiot,” Ava dejectedly voiced, mournful in her silly realisation.

“Back then I would have said that too, but now? Now I know better. I should have been careful as well. I shouldn’t have pushed you like I did.”

Beatrice and the dancers break apart and circle Ava as she gives her back to the audience. The pact has been made and now they must face the consequences. Ava falls into herself, hugging at her sides as her head bends towards the floor, unwilling to face the mess she has made. One by one the dancers are struck down as the base of the song becomes an unrelenting death cull.

Love me

Till you

Till you love me

I'll fuck you till you love me

All fall except for Beatrice who breaks free from the trance at the very last second to grab Ava’s hand from the tight coil she has made around herself. Just like she had that night. Now back to back, hands clasped, they face the arena together as the echo fades.

Love me

Within seconds the stage is thrown into complete pandemonium as the reanimated dead come back to life. Ava throws her headpiece towards the audience and quickly pulls off Beatrice’s suit jacket. The dancers do the same around them, discarding articles of clothing as they dance along with the sudden tempo switch, each falling into a frenetic dance, legs kicking in every direction and arms flailing from side to side.

(Y)(S)

Sein Blut ist mein

(His blood is mine)

Sein Blut ist mein

A complete spectacle takes over the stage. Ava comes close, swaying the sides of her dress—hair everywhere, as she jumps up and down, vamping up the energy as the sprawling production of the first song comes to its boisterous conclusion.

“¡Y reina y reina, y guapa y guapa!”

The audience chants as everyone onstage catches their breath. Ava watches on, unblinking.

“¡Y reina y reina, y guapa y guapa!”

“Madrid,” she says when the roar dies down enough to speak. “Estoy muy feliz de verlos a todos aquí. (I am so happy to see you all here.)” She giggles as they get loud again. “Oooooo, olé. Sé que esta noche será agridulce para todos. Solo quiero decir la inmensa alegría que siento por estar finalmente aquí y terminar con todos ustedes. (Ooooooh, wow. I know tonight will be bittersweet for all of us. And I just want to say how overjoyed I am to finally be here and finish with you all.)”

The dancers clear the stage, allowing Ava to have a moment alone with her fans. As Beatrice turns to leave, Ava catches the movement and rushes for her. “No, no, no. No te me vayas. Quédate aquí conmigo para que pueda ser fuerte para ellos. (No, no, no. Don't leave. Stay here with me so I can be strong for them.)”

Beatrice nods, holding onto Ava’s hand, much to the excitement of the fans. They take in the audience, the lights above them coming on so Ava can see them more clearly.

“Cuando empecé a escribir este álbum, me sentía aterrorizada. Incapaz de seguir alimentando a la bestia insaciable que es la industria de la música. Tomé el descanso más largo que jamás me había tomado o permitido e incluso la sola idea de volver a exponerme sin reservas me horrorizaba. Pero descubrí que, en ese instante, cada mal pensamiento, cada decisión equivocada, cada momento feliz—todos mis sentimientos tenían que ser libres para que yo pudiera ser libre. (When I began to write this album I found myself petrified. Unable to keep feeding the insatiable beast that is the music industry. I took the longest break I have ever taken or allowed myself to have, and even then the very thought of bearing myself raw again was horrifying, but I found that in that instance every bad thought, every wrong decision, every happy moment—all of my feelings had to be released so that I could be free.)”

Ava’s hand trembles in Beatrice’s grip as she struggles to find her breath.

“La música para mi es un lugar seguro—un espacio sagrado. Y quiero agradecerles por permitirme expresarme como lo he hecho. (Music for me is a safe place—a sacred space. And I want to thank you for allowing me to express myself as I have.)”

After a kiss to Ava’s cheek and a whisper of, “Be amazing,” into her ear, Beatrice is sent off with a light smack of her butt.

“Esta canción es para mi esposa. Ella quien sigue afrontando conmigo todos los momentos difíciles y felices en este camino que es nuestra vida. (This song is for my wife. Who continues to face all the hard and happy moments with me in the path that is our life.)”

(Y)(S)

Yo que perdí mis manos en Jerez y mis ojos en Roma

(I, who lost my hands in Jerez and my eyes in Rome)

Crecí y el descaro lo aprendí por ahí por Barcelona

(I grew and learned my shamelessness around there in Barcelona)

As Beatrice watches on from backstage while Ava sings, her mind naturally recollects the first year they’ve shared as a married couple. To all the moments that have been long yearned for and finally made possible.

Perdí mi lengua en París

(I lost my tongue in Paris)

Mi tiempo en L.A.

(My time in L.A.)

Los heels en Milán

(Heels in Milan)

La sonrisa en U.K.

(A smile in the U.K.)

—

One year ago.

There’s a veritable feast laid before them.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprising given the circuitous routes they had all taken to evade the excited and prying eyes of the public, the food that Beatrice had hastily ordered while huddled in the backseat of a cab, had been waiting for them on the doorstep of the maisonette.

Beatrice had pointedly ignored the many missed calls and text messages flooding her phone screen. Ava had yet to glance at her phone, still blinding everyone in vicinity with her rosy cheeked showstopping smile—fingers tightly intertwined with her wife’s.

Ava and Beatrice had taken no less than five cabs on their journey home. Every time the cabbie had begun to squint repeatedly and quizzically into the rearview mirror—one going so far as to turn bodily to peer at them from behind the wheel, eyes darting to the campaign poster of The Cruciforms at the bus stop shelter as they idled in traffic. They had mumbled out a hasty excuse and hustled out at the next intersection before hailing yet another cab.

The straw that broke the camel’s back in the final cab was when the evening news radio announcer had loudly declared, “Aaaaaaaaaaaand in Breaking Celebrity News, many felicitations to the happy couple as Beatrice Young of The Cruciforms and Ava Silva were spotted exchanging their wedding vows at St Dunstan in the East this afternoon. It quickly became evident that this was not a sanctioned wedding as the celebrity duo, accompanied by Camila Delcán of The Cruciforms and two unidentified middle aged women, were chased off the property by law enforcement officers…”

Both Ava and Beatrice had been unable to suppress their twin yelps of amusement (Ava) and horror (Beatrice) at the ‘middle aged women’ descriptor. Simultaneously, a spark of recognition had sharpened the last cab driver’s eyes and his mouth had formed the words, so richly shaped by his Cockney accent, “EY! Ain’t ya Beatrice, then!?”. Beatrice had shoved a wad of cash towards him before they tumbled out of the car and powerwalked the rest of the way home, heads lowered the entire way.

The trio of Camila, Emilia and Vivian had only fared marginally better. All three temporarily detained by the officers after one had taken exception to being verbally harangued in a multitude of languages between the three of them, on top of Emilia and Vivian’s blatant assault of the gardeners. They had eventually been let off with a stern warning by the sergeant, though he too was noticeably cowed by the two frosty and unimpressed stares. Less so by the failed attempt to emulate the stares.

A tablecloth hastily thrown over the coffee table. Too many people and too much food to cram into their cozy kitchen and around their dining table.

Beatrice and Camila had both been busy in the kitchen, tasked with plating and heating up the lukewarm foods.

Ava had scrambled around the flat in search of all of their drink coasters while Emilia headed to the nearest liquor store to purchase celebratory bubbles and more wine. Ava had then sorted through their nicest dinnerware to use for the occasion and unearthed a set of lilac napkins. Everyone’s plates were then adorned with an endearingly, wonkily shaped napkin animal or flower origami—barely holding themselves together.

Finally, Vivian had hastened in with cork coasters to slide under the steaming platters of roast meats, fried rice, and beef ho fun. Plates were piled high with crunchy spring rolls, the stir fried vegetables crammed into the remaining space, while the condiment bowls full of ginger and spring onion oil, chilli oil, and fresh chillies were precariously balanced between every dish.

At long last, they are all seated, perched on the cushions separating them from the floor and cradling a plate in their hand. A combination of chopsticks and forks reaching over one another to serve each other and themselves. Three sets of eyes watch on fondly as Ava and Beatrice work to pile each other’s plate high with their favourite foods. Only hampered in their movements by being so close to each other that they’re half in each other’s lap.

The jubilation and excitement from the day’s events and the three Spaniards present all combine together to create as raucous and chatter filled a dinner as Beatrice can recall. It’s a total contrast from the quiet that has previously accompanied her and her mother’s meals together. A quiet that seems an almost distant memory now.

Recent meals with Ava and on occasion, Emilia, instead filled with cheerful chitchat as they talk about their lives, partake in spirited debates, and cackle about the latest gossip.

Beatrice watches on as Ava enthusiastically dunks her soy sauce chicken into the ginger and spring onion oil, all while still chewing the remnants of a spring roll in her mouth. A delighted giggle escapes her, her superstar wife is still as unrefined as ever out of the public eye.

Meanwhile, Vivian throws her head back, laughing gaily, as Camila mimes Beatrice’s panic that time she got caught sneaking into the Delcán household to visit a grounded Camila. The latest Utada Hikaru CD tucked under her armpit as she had swung her body through the open window just as Mrs. Delcán and one of her colourful house dresses burst into the bedroom.

How different her life is now. What a life Ava and her have created together. Will continue to create together. There’s a slight hitch in her breath as a lump gathers in her throat, gratefulness flowing through her.

Ava catches her eye then, quirking a concerned brow in question before her expression clears. Her wife understanding the emotions surging through her—this dinner and on this day, with these people—without a single word exchanged between them.

When Camila, predictably, begins to descend into chaos and overexaggeration in front of her captive audience, Beatrice quickly acts lest Camila reveal too much, or willy-nilly hand over teasing material to her new mother-in-law.

“...and—and then, Beatrice threatened the life of my teddybear—Señor Lutece, if you must know. She had crazy eyes and everything. Really, Vivian, I feared for my life. I don’t know who she thinks she is, being such a tyrant,” Camila gestures erratically, her curls bouncing furiously as she becomes even more animated, “Everyday, she would barricade me into a room and pull out her A4 ringbinder—you all know how she is—complete with tab dividers and colour coded sticky flags with her notes and questions. She was OBSESSED with Las EstrAHHHH—” Camila is abruptly cut off as Beatrice whips out the cushion from underneath herself and throws it with a thwack at Camila’s face.

“Camila once bought a pot brownie off a guy in Uni and then convinced herself it was a sting operation by the police and she would get expelled. She dyed her hair so she wouldn’t get identified!”

“BEATRICE YOUNG! YOU SWORE YOU WOULD TAKE THAT TO YOUR GRAVE!” Camila levels a finger at Beatrice before stilling, “Wait, is it Young or Silva?! Young-Silva? Silva-Young? Silng? Youva?”

As Camila invents increasingly ridiculous amalgamations of their surnames, Vivian and Emilia howl with laughter, chiming in with equally abhorrent suggestions.

Beatrice rolls her eyes in reply before turning to catch the smile of her wife, eye crinkles on full display.

Ava mouths, ‘Te amo, Beatrice Youva’ to her before pursing her oily coated lips and blowing a kiss at her.

Beatrice wrinkles her nose in reply before leaning in to smack an equally oily kiss onto Ava’s cheek.

—

She can't keep getting away with this, Ava thinks to herself as she pants heavily, sweat dripping off her cheeks as she bends over mid climb. Meanwhile, her entire body is being buffeted by the strong, gale force winds that beat down the exposed Sintra Mountain top. All this and they haven’t reached the inner fortification walls of Castelo dos Mouros yet.

Curse Beatrice and her stupidly perfect face, beautiful crescent eye smile, and her annoying ability to get Ava to acquiesce to just about anything with a well-timed question and kiss. Curse her girlf—oops—wife’s—Ava can’t help the broad smile that overtakes her visage at the mere reminder—love of hiking.

With the help of Alice finagling her calendar to postpone meetings and tour rehearsals, as well as the “co-operation” of an exasperated François agreeing to reschedule A-vah’s training sessions and a verbal threat of working her three times as hard upon her return from celebrating her nuptials, Ava and Beatrice have managed to skedaddle to Sintra, Portugal for a three day honeymoon—a much, much longer honeymoon to be planned later—a mere two days after getting married.

They had passed a few other hikers coming back down from the summit—amongst them a couple from Illinois dressed in thin windbreakers who merrily warned them of the ferocity of the wind currents at the top but that it wasn’t cold enough to bother them—there has been no other person in their vicinity for a while.

As Ava blows out a breath, scowling up at the stone steps ahead with a dogged determination, Beatrice, who is at least 20 metres ahead, is turning back towards her with her DSLR in hand, busily snapping photos of her wife and the landscape below. Ava pulls a mock-sulky face towards the camera, wrinkles her nose and sticks her tongue out.

There’s a clear shake to Beatrice’s shoulders as she chuckles before she drops the DSLR and swings the camera strap so that the camera rests behind her shoulder. Ava sees Beatrice take a quick covert glance around their surroundings and in one quick motion, pulls up the layers of her clothing (jacket, t-shirt and thermal) before flashing Ava with a single boob before springing from the spot.

It’s safe to say that Ava catches up with Beatrice very quickly after that.

—

“Espero que presten atención porque no me voy a repetir. (I hope you pay attention because I will not repeat myself.)” Abuela says, unfurling the small, sharp serrated knife tucked within her apron. She turns, running it under the hot water tap.

Ava watches on as a terrified Beatrice restrains herself from reaching for it as the knife is brandished around in different directions. “I don’t think I need to be here for this.”

Abuela points the knife in her direction, “Ava, colócate allí y cierra la boca (Stand there and shut your trap),” she comes close to the counter again, wiping the knife with her apron.

Beatrice steps back. Ava does not.

They both watch as Abuela explains at length how to cut into the nougat. Crunching noises filling the kitchen as Abuela descends upon the carefully assembled army of turrón on the counter. The knife slices cleanly through the brittle, jagged remnants gathering as each is cut into rectangular slices. There’s a mix of jijona, alicante, yema tostada and guirlache.

They’ve been busy preparing dishes for close to an hour when the front door’s bell rings, announcing the arrival of more family members for New Year’s Eve dinner. Ava leans to sneak a glance towards the porch doors to see if anyone will answer, Abuela’s knife still threatening if she so much as shifts from her spot. Surreptitiously, Abuelo walks into the kitchen then—Ava can’t tell if he’s pretending to ignore the bell or if he has discarded his hearing aids already—and begins to poke at the burning logs on the hearth across the stove. He scratches at his bushy eyebrow before lowering himself to add new logs into it.

“Estoy demasiado viejo para estas fiestas. Ya tienen edad suficiente para dejarnos en paz (I’m getting too old for these parties. You’re all old enough to leave us in peace),” he says displeased, “Solo quería ver Sueños de Libertad. (I just wanted to watch Sueños de Libertad.)”

Beatrice perks up beside Ava, “¿En qué episodio estás? (Which episode are you on?)”

“No tengo ni idea, pero me gusta la ropa de época (I have no idea, but I do like the period outfits),” he replies and then adds regarding both of them, “¿Sabían que hay una pareja gay? Deberían seguir mirándolo. Les gustaría (Did you know there’s a gay couple? You should keep watching. You’d like it),” and walks off completely cool and unruffled.

“¡JODER! (FUCK!),” Beatrice yelps, accidentally stabbing herself with the pointed end of the knife, “I’m bleeding!”

“Beatrice, te vas a tragar la lengua si dices esas cosas, (You’re going to swallow your tongue if you say such things)” Abuela says sagely, turning to check on one of the pots on the stove.

“Go rinse your finger, I’ll get you something.”

Emilia passes through the kitchen on the way to the front door. “Ava, is this not also your house? The bell has been ringing. Am I to split myself into four this evening while you laze about opening drawers?”

“I didn’t hear it,” Ava retorts, wiggling a bandaid, “Beatrice cut her finger.”

“Didn’t hear it my a—” Sinatra drowns Emilia out as she heads to the front door.

“¡Tia, Feliz Año Nuevo!” Diego’s voice travels down the hall. Ava smiles, upon hearing it. It’s different. Hearing him in person accentuates the changes even more. He continues to chat as the family moves into the living room, his voice breaking and squeaking endearingly all the while. “Beatrice!” he barrels towards them upon sight.

Beatrice flexes her bandaged finger in greeting before leaning down to engulf him in a tight hug.

Diego stands between them, taking in their handiwork of jagged turrón. “These came out really well,” he says, leaning just a tad more towards Beatrice.

Ava stands there stumped. Diego didn’t offer a hug. Had he even glanced in her direction? “Gordito, where’s my hug?” Diego turns his head minutely regarding Ava, then his gaze falls to the rings on her left hand. Ah. He’s still sour about their nuptials.

At first Ava had thought it was because he had missed it, the magic of the internet beating them to telling Diego about it themselves. Strike one. But then upon further development, Ava had put it together. Her tween of a cousin was jealous. Strike two. His not so secret crush on Beatrice creating a rift between them.

“You haven’t offered me a hug either,” Diego delivers nonchalantly, “Only Beatrice did.”

Ava’s eyebrow quirks. Little shit. “You’re right! How could I have been so callous?” A sloppy hug and hair tussle later, Diego giggles reaching over for a turrón slice. Ava fights back a small pang at her chest, seeing Diego now, how tall he is leaves her with a sense of loss. Long gone are the days of holding him up to the counter to sneak snacks before dinner.

(Y)(S)

Blue moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

“¿No son divinos los niños? (Aren’t kids wonderful?)” Abuela asks, her eyes bouncing between Beatrice and Ava, and making a point to look at Diego to emphasise the message.

Diego makes a face, but doesn’t attempt to correct Abuela. He has peach fuzz on top of his lip now, he’s practically a man.

“Quiero disfrutar de mis bisnietos antes de ponerme más viejo (I want to enjoy my great-grandchildren before I get any older),” Abuelo walks into the kitchen again, making his rounds of checking on the logs and sneaking a taste of the food cooking on the stove.

“What!?” Diego shouts. Outrage coming through in abundance, a little wounded. “First you don’t tell me about the wedding and now you don’t tell me you’re going to have a baby!”

Ava’s eyes shift in panic from Diego's smallish frame to Abuelo. Who is of course unaware of the can of fake worms he has just opened, choosing instead to try a spoonful of the lamb soup. “What—Diego, no. Abuelo, no!”

“¡¿Cómo que no!?” (What do you mean ‘no’), Abuela raises her voice, knife forming cursive poems in the air between them. Beatrice recoils back, mortified with its resurgence.

“Why aren’t you telling me things anymore?” Diego continues, “You said I was a good listener.”

“Wait, Diego. Abuela, por supuesto que sí (Of course, yes)—es que—(It’s that—).” Ava attempts to calm the situation, spreading her hands out as if everyone in the kitchen is about to partake in an all out rival gang fight.

Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

Beatrice makes it a point to catch Ava’s eyes. There’s confusion but also enjoyment from what is probably her very flustered state. “You are a good listener.” she says encouragingly, placing a soothing hand on Diego’s shoulder. He settles back down instantly, but crosses his arms accusingly towards Ava, just in case.

“¡Castellano!”

“Si, Abuela. Disculpa. (Yes. Forgive me.)”

“¿Que está sucediendo? (What’s happening?)” Beatrice asks leaning forward to grab Abuela’s knife from where she has left it, covertly hiding it underneath one of the cutting boards in the sink. “¿Les dijiste que habíamos hablado de niños? (You told them we talked about children?)”

Diego tugs on Ava’s hand, trying to catch her attention. “¿Puedo ser el padrino? (Can I be the Godfather?)”

Ava’s heart races, cheeks pinkening under Beatrice’s instinctual need to be sincere. “Queremos niños, pero ahora no (We want kids, but not now),” Ava reasons, “Tal vez en el futuro. No hemos tenido tiempo para— (Maybe in the future. We just haven’t had the time to—)”

“¡¿Tiempo¡¿ (Time!?)” Abuela turns from her search for the missing knife, pinning Ava down with her eyes, “El tiempo se va! (Time leaves you!)”

“¿Quién va a tener el bebé, tú o Beatrice? (Who will have the baby, you or Beatrice?)” Diego has switched to tugging on Beatrice’s hand instead, probing for more information.

“No lo sé. Todavía no lo hemos decidido, (I don’t know. We haven’t decided yet.)” Beatrice replies.

And then there suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will hold

I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

Emilia emerges from the backyard rubbing at the sides of her arms. Her nose is pink from the cold air outside and painted upon her brow, the depiction of annoyance at having to cater to guests. “I thought I would come in to check on the—”

“¡Castellano!”

“¡Los turrónes! (The turrónes!)” Emilia raises her voice, “Vine a ver si estaban listos. (I came to see if they were ready.)”

“Emilia, don’t leave me alone with that man.” Vivian speeds inside, quickly shutting the door behind her.

“Is tío Martín outside?” Diego enquires.

“Si no ahora, ¿cuándo? Ya empecé a tejer calcetines. (If not now, then when? I’ve been knitting socks.)”

Emilia reaches for the lamb soup ladle but doesn’t get a chance to grip it as Abuela swats at her hand. “¿Desde cuándo tejes? (Since when do you knit?)” Then, tries to go for Beatrice’s lentejas before Abuela swats at the attempt as well. Left with nothing to eat without being scolded, she eyes the first thing within reach; a beautiful presentation of olives on top of the charcuterie board. She makes a quick grab for one, throwing it into her mouth.

“Desde que Ava va a tener un bebé. (Since Ava is going to have a baby.)”

Vivian’s eyes bulge and Ava watches as her wife scurries to her mother’s side, tugging Vivian down in an attempt to whisper into her ear. The next thing she sees is Emilia holding her stomach before reaching for her throat. Her agitation and wheezing sets them all off as they scrabble towards her.

Beatrice doesn’t hesitate, getting Emilia to lean forward before wrapping her arms around her waist. Emilia makes a high-pitched noise as Beatrice thrusts her forward, adding pressure to her abdomen. It causes a counter force making them fall backwards into the CD player, jostling it to the side.

Blue moon

Now I'm no longer alone

“No, you shouldn't do that anymore, it can cause more harm.” Diego comes to Beatrice’s side, pulling at her hands. “You’re going to kill Tía!”

The CD begins to skip, repeating the same line over and over again.

“What does Abuela mean you’re having a baby?” Vivian asks, indifferent to the chaos around her as Beatrice continues to thrust into Emilia who is now turning an interesting shade of purple.

“Mum—I’m—” Beatrice grunts out between thrusts, “Ava—isn’t—having—a baby!”

“¡Castellano!”

Blue moon

Now I'm no longer alone

“¡La vas a matar! (You’re going to kill her!)” Diego shouts.

“¡Alguien calla a ese hombre! (Someone shut that man up!)”

The olive shoots out of Emilia’s mouth and they all watch in synchronicity as it lands a few metres from them. Emilia falls back against the counter, arm on her chest as she gulps in air. She coughs a few times as Beatrice pats at her back, catching her breath as well.

“Creo que me voy a la cama. (I think I’m going to bed.)” Abuelo pronounces, shuffling away before he can be held accountable.

Blue moon

Now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

“Cinco!”

“Cuatro!”

“Tres!”

“Dos!”

“Uno!”

“¡Feliz Año Nuevo!”

Ava has barely finished shouting out the midnight greeting before Beatrice descends upon her with a quick but intimate kiss. Beatrice’s teeth just snagging Ava’s bottom lip in her haste to pull back and grab her first grape out of her bowl. Standing on the other side of Beatrice, Ava sees Vivian doing the same—swallowing her grapes at an alarming rate, eyes wide and competitive as she watches the second hand of the clock ticking away.

Ava calmly pops her fifth grape into her mouth, chewing slowly and watching on as her wife picks up her last grape. Beatrice pauses for a few long precious seconds, her eyes glancing the quickest of glances at a snoozing toddler, bundled beneath a blanket and cradled in the arms of a distant Silva cousin before looking straight back at Ava. A flicker of a thought visibly flutters through Beatrice’s facial expressions. Then, a deep panicked inhalation right before Beatrice crams the last grape into her mouth just as the clock switches over to 12:01.

Realisation dawns upon Ava as she tips all seven remaining grapes into the palm of her hand and crams them down her mouth.

And that is how Ava Silva almost dies on New Year’s Day.

—

(Y)(S)

Through the rose-colored lenses

And the white picket fences

No matter how good this is, could never satisfy

When it's you that I'm missin'

Now I sit in the kitchen

Through the windowpane, I watch the day turn to night

My Love

[I’ll call when you’re back at the apartment.]

[In the lift now.]

[A very well dressed child has pressed all the buttons.]

[I’m contemplating knocking on every door to tell his parents.]

[Nobody likes a snitch, Bea.]

It ain't a mystery

That every time you leave

That's when I feel the most alone, oh

On the 12th floor the elevator dings, announcing its arrival. The other remaining occupant, a small child, turns to face Beatrice, all goofy eyed and missing half his teeth. He’s still wearing his Randoseru and his yellow school hat which means he’s either just returned from school or does this recreationally afterwards.

“お名前は? (What’s your name?)” He asks, gripping the handles of his backpack and bouncing back and forth on the heels of his feet.

The lift door shuts on its way to the last floor.

“Beatrice,” she replies. He stares blankly for some time, contemplating whether or not to say something else. As the doors open once more Beatrice makes a move to exit. The boy turns to the panel preparing for the task of hitting all the buttons again. “やめて(Stop),” she scolds, eyes piercing him down but nothing comes of it as Mr. Button Pusher slides both his hands down the panel with a cheeky grin.

Ooh, don't you know

That you're the one who makes this house a home

And so, when you go

It feels so cold without the soul

You're the onе who makes this house a home

She sighs, breathing in short bursts as she hustles down the hall. It’s been a long day. Actually, it’s been weeks of early morning shoots that spiraled past schedule with barely any time to squeeze in a few bites to eat or a quick text to Ava. When she had initially signed up to take part in the movie it had been a small role, but the more she read for it, the more the director and screen writers wanted to extend her character.

Sweat trickles down her temple as she rummages through the canvas bag for the apartment card. Frustration builds the more she searches through towels, water bottles, headphones and protein bars. It’s unlike her to do this, to just drop the card in, but she can't be blamed for only running on a few hours of sleep.

More than an hour at the gym tonight and she had spent most of it running on the treadmill. Pretending to shoot targets with the prop bow the crew had given her to practice with. Her stomach grumbles in protest as she continues to flip everything within the bag for the key. The last time she had a solid meal was at 4 am and it was a slice of buttered shokupan and natto.

The entry door’s bolt comes loose once she taps the card against the reader and pushes her shoulder against it, granting entry into her temporary apartment. Her eyes blink cartoonishly at the lack of black Vans in the genkan, the miniscule hope of Ava surprising her after a long day gone within seconds. A pout forms of its own volition. What she wouldn’t give to forget all the rules drilled into her and rush into Ava’s all encompassing hug, shoes still on.

Time alone is precious, not compromising to anyone

I've built my very own castle but it's you I was missing

Please, let me say 'I'm home' to you every day

'Have a good day'

I don't like this house without you

The phone in her pocket vibrates, a small balm to her neediness but it makes her smile nonetheless. Quickly, she uses one foot to loosen a shoe off and then the other. The canvas bag is discarded somewhere along the way as she beelines for the bathroom, phone in front of her face.

“My love!” They both say in unison. Ava’s face bobs into view on the screen. It’s sunny in London, the telltales of Spring evident with the sound of nearby birds. Ava must be on the way home from the gym as well.

“How’s your day going so far?” Beatrice asks, opening the door to the bathroom and shuffling inside. “I heard you’re on your fourth cup of coffee and it’s only 2pm.”

“Alice said that, did she?” Ava pulls back from the screen, avidly typing into her phone.

“Don’t harass my informant!”

“Who does Alice think she works for, you?” Ava sasses, “Last time I checked it was my name on her checks.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes affectionately, leaning against the sink. “No, it isn’t.”

“Fine,” Ava relents, “It’s our names! But still. She doesn’t answer to you.”

“You think Alice answers to yo—”

“Your hair!” Ava ignores the question, choosing instead to encroach further into her phone. “When did you do this? I thought—”

Beatrice pulls on the short strand self-consciously. “This morning.”

“This morning?” Ava clutches at her phone. “Unbeliveable. I thought they weren’t sure whether to do it or not. Is it character relevant? Is it necessary for the story? I told you, you can’t just let them do what they want. That’s what happened during training and you blew your back out.”

“Hi,” Beatrice murmurs, “It’s good to see you too. I miss you today. Greedily, I was kind of hoping you’d be here. I think I need a cuddle.”

Ooh, don't you know

That you're the one who makes this house a home

And so, when you go

I fear I may freeze even in summer

Because your warmth is home

Ava continues to grumble, making semi-hushed remarks about the injustice of it all. “It’ll only be a month, she says. It's a small role, she says. We’re two months and a haircut deep—” then, stops realising what Beatrice has just voiced. “Do you want me to come?” Ava asks, voice serious and without the earlier teasing bite. Her countenance too. Doing that disarming look that causes Beatrice to tear down walls. “I can cancel on Graham.”

Beatrice stops undressing, shirt stuck bunged up around her neck. “You’ll cancel on Graham Norton?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of eager managers desperate for a spot to open.”

“No. You also have your shows at the end of the week to worry about. You would be exhausted once you got back. I can’t ask this of you. You’re already having to do unscheduled promotions on top of—”

“Bea, it’s Tuesday. It’s not a long flight," Ava deadpans before shrugging, “Plus, I would like a cuddle as well. And your t-shirts aren’t cutting it anymore.”

“No. Ava. I’m nearly finished. Just two more weeks.” Beatrice resists as best she can. Agreeing to this will only add more strain on Ava. She’s been a witness to many late night phone calls where phrases have slurred and become nothing but short sounds as Ava tries to stay awake long enough to talk. The demand for Ava’s attention post album launch has spiraled out of control and continues now that her tour is well underway. Their naive assumption that they would have more time forcing them to re-plan their time together outside of their schedules.

“Alright. Alright,” Ava acquiesces after a sharp look. “Let me keep you company at least? It sounds like you’ve had a hard day.”

It ain't a mystery

That every time you leave

That's when I feel the most alone, oh

When it’s about to be taken for granted

I hope you’ll remember

After a quick shower—accompanied by Ava hollering powerballads and being an overall nuisance every time the barest of Beatrice’s tantalising skin showed on camera — they both settle by the kitchen island; Ava propped up against two ceramic and wooden deer from the Kasugataisha shrine in Nara as Beatrice prepares dinner for herself. It has become her spot during shooting weeks, Beatrice beside her and usually in front of a hot bowl of something or other. Today: piri kara soba.

“Does Keanu still make you nervous?” Ava asks, shoveling rice into her mouth. She has arrived at her schedule and is waiting for hair and makeup before her interview for BBC radio. They’ve continued to be on the phone ever since Ava left their home, jumped into the towncar and was immediately sassed by Alice. Alice, upon catching Beatrice’s face on the screen, rolled her eyes good-naturedly before saying ‘Twat’ along with a ‘Go to sleep, you look dreadful’.

“I am an eternal ball of nerves around him.” Beatrice sits back, drumming her tummy, satisfied with her meal and finding her earlier mood remedied by her wife’s infinite care. “He asked me what my favourite film was. I panicked and screamed ‘SPEED!” Ava laughs, unsympathetic to her embarrassment. “He took it very well, but I could see it in his eyes, he never wants to be alone in a room with me again.”

Upon settling down, Ava stares into the camera while saying in a very no nonsense tone, “Tell Levy I am expecting my warabimochi. He’s not to eat it like last time and he’s certainly not welcome back without it.”

“Yes, my love, I’ll get it tomorrow morning before his flight.”

“Lots of kinako?”

“Of course.”

Ooh, don't you know

That you're the one who makes this house a home?

And so, when you go

It feels so cold without the soul

You're the one who makes this house a home

When the hair and makeup team arrives, Ava puts on her headphones. “I’m going to mute myself,” she says just as the hairdryer starts, “Keep talking, I’m listening.”

Beatrice settles into the sheets, body landing solidly onto the bed. She’d make a joke of being in a catatonic state but doesn’t think she has the energy for it. Instead, she rubs her eyes until there’s a lightshow behind her eyelids and exhales.

“Did I tell you I had a dream that we were outside in the garden, but it wasn’t our front garden,” she recounts, fighting back the heaviness of her eyes. “I think it was the bottom neighbor’s. And we were tending to all sorts of things, mainly flowers though. And then out of nowhere it began to rain so we rushed inside.”

Ava doesn’t reply but the phone vibrates on top of Beatrice’s chest several times. It’s their thing whenever they’re in a loud setting and one of them is winding down to sleep. They’ll send a few short messages to express interest in what is being said.

Beatrice smiles, thoughts jumbling in her head as unconsciousness begins to creep in. “I hold the door open for you, and you’re—you’re wearing gum boots and next to you are smaller ones. Green? With lady bugs. Covered in mud. Squish—squish.” The phone vibrates by her heart. “Squish—squish—squi—”

Even if one day I woke up in paradise

Without you I wouldn’t stay long

Even if I owned a magnificent mansion

Without you it would be nothing more than a facade

Oh, you're the one who makes this house a home

You made this house a home, oh, oh, oh

—

Beatrice hands Ava her handbag from the airport security tray before leaning back to scoop both of their passports into her hand, proceeding to methodically and carefully tuck the passports and boarding passes away into their passport holder, stowing that into her backpack and slinging it across her back. All while Ava watches on patiently, trying to ignore the many many eyes gawking at them.

Suffice to say, the two of them have not managed to escape the public’s attention and everyone in the vicinity is well aware of the two celebrities in their midst.

Then, Beatrice is slipping her hand into Ava’s, intertwining their fingers before they walk away from the security zone and X-ray machines, giving small polite smiles to people seeking to catch their gaze.

The security guards assigned to them quietly watch on from the side, ready at a moment’s notice to intervene in case anyone gets too exuberant and overwhelms them.

All goes swimmingly as they continue down the pathway towards the escalators and down to the myriad of duty-free shops, luxury brands, souvenir goods and restaurants. That is, until Ava slams to a stop at the sight before her, going rigid with shock at the view she is met with. Shock quickly morphs into some combination of emotions. What emotions precisely? She doesn’t know.

Only the near death grip that Beatrice has on her hand prevents her from throwing herself bodily across the digital billboard campaign to cover the image that’s currently displayed, blocking it from everyone else’s gaze.

Ava whirls on her wife. A little bit, let’s call it a tiny tiny shred of annoyance and frustration bubbling to the surface. Is her face hot? It feels hot. Only the scrutiny of those nearby compels her to keep her voice low, hissing her words between her teeth, barely moving her lips in case anyone can read them. Damn Camila and her spam of the internet’s favourite celebrity lipreader. “Beatrice,” she tugs on their clasped hands, “What the hell is this?”

Her current state is not aided by Beatrice’s reaction or her reply. Not one bit. The betrayal. Her wife’s face can’t seem to settle between amusement, a hint of worry, and feigned fear, all three flickering on and off. “You can’t even tell it’s me, Ava, my face isn’t vis—”

Ava cuts her off, loudly exclaiming, “BUT I KNOW! And I’m sure they’ll figure it out!” Hand coming undone from their hold and flinging out to vaguely wave around them, gesturing at the general ‘they’. Audience be damned.

She quickly grabs Beatrice’s forearm and tows her towards the nearest alcove. The bodyguards quickly fan out in front of them, doing their best to block them from view. “What happened to warning each other?”

“I did.”

“No me jodas (Don’t fuck with me). I absolutely would have remembered if you, at any point, came home and said, ‘Darling wife of mine, light of my life, I posed naked today and soon you will SEE ME EVERYWHERE displaying my entire lower body in nothing but a pair of patent leather heels!’” her tone rises the longer she speaks, her ire truly spiking now as she continues to be met with Beatrice’s mirth filled honey brown eyes.

“Yes, I did. Remember? You were in Argentina and I called you after I got back to the hotel. I was sitting on the bed, in the bathrobe, and I said my photoshoot was a bit more revealing than usual.”

“I don’t recall.” Ava makes it a point to admire the new Miss Dior ad, Natalie Portman beautifully gowned and draped across a stairwell, in order to avoid Beatrice’s piercing gaze.

“Oh?” Beatrice shuffles closer. The action forcing Ava’s back to come into contact with the wall behind them. “Were your eyes occupied elsewhere?”

“No!” Ava manages to squeak, wholly unprepared for a hovering Beatrice, prolonged eye contact and the warm pants by her neck. “I was listening, you were saying things. The bathrobe slipped from your shoulder. And you giggled, and then…and then…”

“And then?”

“I asked you to undo the knot.”

“What knot?”

“The bathrobe’s knot.”

Beatrice pulls back, exceptionally well put together, “So, you admit you were distracted?” There’s a cocky smile as she adjusts the strap of her backpack. Ava nods and swallows. Then, swallows a few more times because her mouth is as arid as a desert. “Good. That settles it then.”

Upon landing, a text from Camila greets them.

Camilamenomenon

[She got you.]

[(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵) ]

[She got you good.]

A cloud bubble proceeds Camila’s messages of a woman holding a pair of chorded white headphones green screened in front of a video of the both of them. The video title reads, ‘Knots and Bathrobes’.

[Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!]

[The lip reader!]

[I showed Bea, she’s hysterical.]

[Her good girl image ruined.]

[Don’t read the comments.]

[‘Ava is stronger than me, because if Beatrice stood in front of me like that nothing would stop me from devouring her.’]

[(ง •̀_•́)ง ]

[I told you not to read the comments!]

[This one is cute!]

[‘Ava looking at Bea like she hung the very stars and fucks her well each night.’]

[She does.]

[I’m blocking you.]

[Serves you right.]

—

The elevator doors open and instinctively both their eyes search the hotel lobby. Beatrice sighs with relief. It appears that the coast is clear and they’ll be able to make their exit without being spotted. They had poked their heads out a few times earlier and each attempt had been a bust. If it wasn’t overly eager fans right outside the revolving doors, it was ravenous paparazzi out for shots. And it’s not like they were asking for much either, just a few hours in the city before the concert starts.

“Amor,” Ava says, tugging on a belt loop of Beatrice’s corduroy pants. She’s ignored of course, Beatrice is too caught up with their surroundings to truly listen. “If we can’t manage to, we can try after the show, it’ll at least be dark then.”

“You want to try gallivanting around the city while your fans are out in full force?” Beatrice replies, dodging through the hotel guests and staff as they shuffle suitcases around, “That’s actually asking for it.”

“If we wear one of the costumes we’ll fit right in.” Ava’s attempt at lightening the already tense mood goes ignored.

Beatrice pulls both of them inside the revolving door. Ava smushes herself against her wife's back, anxiously on her tippy toes as the cylindrical enclosure tries to bite at her ankles. “I just want us to at least have a moment to ourselves,” Beatrice says, her voice carrying a huffiness that has been there for days.

The album’s popularity had further cemented Ava’s popularity world-wide. Breaking Spotify records for most streams in one day by a female artist. Critics unanimously praised it for its ambition and experimental blend of contemporary pop, flamenco and classical music elements.

It had been near impossible to escape the attention.

Promotions had been ridiculous and at times needless. Ava had blamed herself, eating her cuticles raw until Beatrice had taken control of the situation. Advocating on her behalf when the exhaustion seeped in and the team couldn’t keep up with both the demand for Ava’s presence and prioritising Ava’s well being. So this? Sneaking off and giving Beatrice a few hours all to themselves? Ava can do for Beatrice.

Beatrice pushes against the revolving door’s glass wing to their freedom. The doorman’s face pales and Ava’s heart sinks. Several high-intensity bursts of light happen sequentially. Beatrice is quick to get between the cameras and Ava but is mindful of the waiting fans. They hold out vinyl records, posters and Sharpies. Ava tracks Beatrice’s movements, she’s close enough in case there’s a problem but has molded herself into the red-orange brick of the hotel, waving from a distance as her name is called out as well.

“Ava, please,” a fan says reaching for her phone, “Can we take a picture?” The man beside her shoves a poster in the way, trying to catch Ava’s attention.

“Me too, Ava,” another fan adds in.

“Are you going for a walk?” A paparazzi yells over them all.

“I can’t wait to see you tonight!”

“Can you sign my record?”

“Sure,” Ava replies, reaching over for any Sharpie, any will do. “I’m going to sign everything. I’ll take every picture. Do not worry.”

They should have grabbed security. Ava should have insisted. Her eyes seek Beatrice as another vinyl is placed in front of the Sharpie for her signature. Beatrice’s arms are crossed in front of her chest. Not out of anger, but frustration. The unbearable desire to be alone but the overwhelming incapability of it.

After several minutes the happy fans start to dissipate. They’re not the ones sticking around, they’re not the ones encroaching on their privacy. Beatrice extends her hand for Ava to take while sideyeing the paparazzi. Making sure to keep them in her line of sight.

“Ava, just take a look here,” one man takes advantage of someone else tripping to get closer to them. The cobblestone is making it difficult for everyone to maneuver which means Ava can at least bask in the satisfaction that most images will be of them in movement and crossing between cars in the busy New York streets.

“Look at the camera!”

“Can you look up?”

The harsh camera flashes don’t catch them off-guard. They’re too used to them now. Now they just obstruct and sour their moods. Beatrice keeps her head down, the hand intertwined with Ava’s own in a vice grip. Helping to steer Ava around people, light posts and cars. Beatrice has committed to their outing, unafraid of their predicament.

“Have you got your shot?” Beatrice asks, exasperation evident in every syllable.

“Come on,” Ava tugs, pulling Beatrice against her and further away from the photographers.

“After this we’ll leave you alone.”

“Right,” Beatrice grits out through a false smile, “Of course.”

The paparazzi follow them down the street, a multitude of people turning around to see who exactly is being pursued. It’s as Beatrice spots a small opening for them to squeeze through that one of the cameramen attempts to stop them by inserting himself in their way, and shoving Beatrice against the construction zone’s metal trellis. The structural frame comes into contact with Beatrice’s shoulder and she winces, the impact of it will certainly leave a bruise. She doesn’t react negatively, her instincts are to keep going. To use all the respect that has been drilled into her through the years.

Ava though, is not as constrained.

Suddenly, she feels as if she’s five sizes bigger. “Please be careful with my wife, she’s precious to me,” she says calmly, or as calmly as she can manage, though she has a feeling that she’s about to ram her foot into places that make grown men cry.

“Sorry,” one of them says uncaringly, “Just a few more.”

“It’s okay,” Beatrice reassures, squeezing through and gripping Ava harder. She knows Ava will react. That once her anger comes out it won’t be able to be reeled back in.

Ava breathes in. Reminds herself of who she is. She swallows hard, the irritation consuming every thought in her mind. They just wanted to go on a walk. They just wanted to get lunch. They just wanted to spend time with each other outside of the four walls that seem to follow them everywhere they go. Four walls that are a sad excuse for freedom. Not there to protect them but to keep them in and afraid of the outside world.

From the corner of her eye Ava sees Beatrice wipe the side of her face. The action shatters something inside her. She can’t give Beatrice a moment of peace these days. Too busy to even find a moment to herself at times. They’ve managed time together yes, but at a great cost to their privacy.

Again, Beatrice reaches to rub at her eyes. She’s crying. She’s crying and Ava can’t take them away from this nightmare. This complete dehumanising act just to sell their pictures to the highest bidder.

(Y)(S)

Voy buscando mi destino, no me importa cuándo y cómo

(I'm searching for my destiny, I don't care when or how)

Sé que contigo es el camino, si me caigo, no abandono

(I know you are my path, if I fall, I won't give up)

Lo tuve claro cuando descubrí nadie más me hizo sentir así

(It was clear when I discovered no one else makes me feel this way)

The flashing lights of a neon ‘Open’ sign catches Ava’s attention. It's a cramped hole in the wall bodega with barely enough space for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. Ava stands solidly outside, yanking Beatrice in and forcing them inside the tight quarters. The bell above the door rings once as they enter and then another time as a patron steps out.

“What are you doing?” Beatrice asks as she’s manhandled deeper into the shop and strategically placed between pyramids of canned beans and large stacks of lentil bags. Ava doesn’t have the ability to verbally respond right now so she opts for carefully running her thumbs across Beatrice’s cheeks. They come away moist and cause fresh tears to appear. “I’m sorry,” Beatrice mumbles, her bottom lip quivering as her emotions are allowed to spill free under Ava’s caring watch.

“Bea, don’t you dare apologise,” Ava reassures, continuing to wipe at her wife's cheeks. “This is neither of our faults.”

“We should have—we should have just stayed at the hotel,” Beatrice pushes out between congested breaths.

“I promised you an afternoon and I am going to give it to you,” Ava states, leaning forward to kiss Beatrice’s lips. They’re red-warm and lightly salty.

Somos dos, no importa nadie más

(We are two, no one else matters)

Si hay amor el resto llegará

(If there's love the rest will come)

A bodega employee shuffles by with a broom, sweeping at their feet. “Yo, out of the way.”

Beatrice squats, fanning at her face and attempting to pull herself together as Ava pokes her head out from between the cans of beans. There’s bars on the window and most of the glass is covered with promotional materials and lottery paraphernalia but she can still make out the camera clad figures outside. They won't come in but they will wait for as long as it takes for them to come outside again.

“Think, Ava, think,” she murmurs to herself.

There's boxes stacked in front of the back exit so they can’t make their escape that way. The clerk glares in their direction through the wall mounted dome mirror, probably thinking they’re about to steal with all the nervous energy pouring out of them. She bites her lip, checking on Beatrice’s state. She’s okay, she’s breathing in normally now. Just repeatedly smacking a bag of lentils. Soothing herself in any way she can.

A display of I <3 NY memorabilia catches Ava’s attention. There’s baseball caps hung amongst the various paraphernalia of mugs, thermos, coasters and t-shirts. She grabs a blue one for Beatrice and a black rimmed white one for herself, doing away with the tags in one hard tug and then placing it on Beatrice’s head before her own.

Beatrice stands, hugging the bag of lentils to her chest with determination. So indignant. So cute. “What’s the plan?”

The clerk rings up their caps and a last minute Milkyway bar that Beatrice places on the counter, with a whisper of ‘For courage’. “What about the lentils?” the clerk asks, pointing at Beatrice, the intricate design of her long fingernail catching both of their attentions.

“You’ve served me well, friend.” Beatrice pats the bag one last time before surrendering it.

The clerk pinches at the bottom of the bag, pulling it across the counter with all the impracticality and grace her long nail clad hand allows for before saying, “I’ll move the boxes, you can go through the back.”

Es el fuego que siento por dentro que ilumina todos mis sueños

(It's the fire within me that lights all my dreams)

Me enseñaste a no quemarme luego

(You later taught me how to not burn myself)

No hay fronteras, no tenemos dueño

(There are no barriers, we have no owners)

Nuestro corazón anda suelto por fin

(Our hearts are free finally)

At a four way intersection they wait for the pedestrian lights to change from red to green. The last time they saw a photographer was at the corner of the bodega, now several streets away. Beatrice sags against Ava in relief, head tucking into the side of her neck. Ava smoothes her hand up and down Beatrice’s back, turning her face to place a kiss by her wife’s temple.

In a different world they would be able to walk these streets without the hyper-vigiliance it takes for them to navigate it. These days they’re always on high alert. It has become second nature now to look over their shoulders during the most mundane of moments. The powerlessness of not being able to wander around cities how they used to, or eating at their favourite restaurants. A loss of sanctuary so strong that they still mourn it.

Somos dos no importa nadie más

(We are two no one else matters)

Si hay amor el resto llegará

(If there's love the rest will come)

They find refuge inside a record store a few doors down from where they pelicaned down their lunch of katsu curry. Ava could still taste the delicious and perfectly crunchy, panko breaded pork cutlets and sweet sauce. The way the potatoes and carrots melted in her mouth. A meal for a queen! ‘Avah no heavy mealz, eh?’ Francois’ voice echoes in her brain. His distaste for her lack of self-restraint when it comes to a calorie intense meal.

She blows a raspberry with her lips, attention going to Beatrice again. From her pinched expression it appears that she hasn’t been following along with her wife’s ramble about their vinyl collection.

“Could you check, please?” Beatrice’s attention returns to the vinyl storage slant as she continues to go through the titles.

“Sorry,” Ava re-adjusts from where she has perched herself—elbow definitely creasing a dozen of Michael Buble’s ‘Christmas’. “What did you want me to check?”

“If we had this one in our collection.” Beatrice holds up Jessie Ware’s ‘Superbloom’.

“I think so,” Ava replies, going through her phone and pulling up a very detailed list of all the records in their collection, which has gotten way out of control since they merged their vinyls together. It’s organised exactly how Beatrice likes it; by release year. Ava had taken it upon herself one lazy afternoon when Beatrice appeared with multiple doubles and a sheepish smile. “Yeah, we have it. We got it in Lisbon when we thought we could cram in as many shops as possible and almost missed our flight.”

“Oh, yeah!” Beatrice laughs, placing the vinyl back. There’s a pile beside her already, balanced on top of the stack next to the one Beatrice is rifling through.

Somos dos no importa nadie más

(We are two no one else matters)

Si hay amor el resto llegará

(If there's love the rest will come)

Ava walks over, phone ready to start checking through press dates and inspecting each of them with the eye of someone who has been glared at too many times for missing that one scratch at the corner of Natalia Lafourcade’s ‘Hasta la Raiz’.

They lose track of time within the store. Places like this always offer a quiet respite from their responsibilities. Here they can go through centuries and decades of music, converse about compositions and techniques, remember old albums that once held a close place in their hearts and to their ears, and tease each other about old phases and new ones they should visit together.

As Ava raises her head to check on Beatrice’s whereabouts, she’s greeted by a vinyl of a porcelain sheen headshot of FKA Twigs where her wife’s head should be. Beatrice dips her head and the vinyl moves along with it. She adds a little shoulder shimmy making Ava laugh. Hopefully, the events from earlier are behind them and they can just enjoy this moment together.

Ava’s fingers rake through the albums in front of her, she needs a reply to Beatrice. It’s a cute game they’ve created as they scour record shops around the world. Madonna’s ‘True Blue’ catches her attention, she dips her head back, imitating the diva’s iconic pose before placing the vinyl in front of her face.

“You could do better,” Beatrice says, dimple barely making an appearance.

“Rude!”

Beatrice turns picking up the vinyl next to her, she doesn’t show it right away, instead she makes sure she’s well within view before she pops out her butt, accentuating the arch of her back.

“What’s this?” Ava walks over, intrigued. The smile that greets her is devilish as Beatrice places the cover of the album in front of her hips. “Hey, hey, hey!” Instantly, her face feels warm from the suggestive pose and picture that accompanies it.

“Beat that,” Beatrice gloats, charmingly batting her eyelashes.

Ava does, or at least tries to. She walks over to L and grabs Loverboy’s ‘Get Lucky’ pushing her little tushy out and turning to place the record in the right spot, red leather pants and all. “Eat your heart out!”

No hay más que darle tiempo al tiempo para verlo

(Nothing left to do than to give time time, to see)

No hay más que darle tiempo

(Nothing left to do than give it time)

—

Beatrice emerges from the fogginess of the bathroom into their warm lit hotel room. It’s later than she had anticipated, an earlier meeting running longer than it should have. Its consequence, not allowing for much time with Ava this evening. Ava had been understanding, dutifully lying against the bed’s headrest, signing several thousands of insert cards for another “exclusive” drop of her record.

As she goes about the room to tidy up, humming out a mesh of several tunes, it comes to her attention that it’s quiet. Too quiet. Ava is always quick to start a chat about her latest screenplay fascinations, discussing plot devices and creative ways in which screenwriters have developed characters. Closely listening to Beatrice’s input and comparisons to other literary works or finding the direct references to art and all that falls under it.

When nary a peep of whinging about how sore her hand is heard, Beatrice turns, her gaze falling upon Ava’s slumbering form. Her arm is artfully draped on a pillow by her side, the uncapped Sharpie having slid down and left a wonky line trail down the fabric. The small insert cards fan out in different directions without Ava there to hold them all in a neat pile.

She makes her way over, mindful of being as quiet as possible as to not wake Ava. Without much work, she soon has Ava on her back and tucked in. Next, she grabs the items with the intention of placing them back on top of the room’s office desk but then a thought comes to mind. She is still high on endorphins and isn’t tired enough to sleep yet. Maybe she could put some time into lessening Ava’s pile of inserts.

Improper, her mind attempts to get her attention. Falsifying Ava’s signature for her fans isn’t right but Beatrice cannot stomach more days of Ava exhausting herself further to get these done. So, she grabs her headphones from the night table on her side of the bed and gets to work.

(Y)(S)

Look at me, I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree

And I feel like I'm clingin' to a cloud

I can't understand

I get misty just holding your hand

The first hours go by quickly, the soothing accompaniment of her favourite jazz playlist keeping her company. Any lingering guilt dissipates fast. At some point during the deceitful act, she had stood to grab the box by their shoes and placed it by the bedside, reaching over every so often to grab another stack.

Ava has stirred a few times, each time resulting in Beatrice halting all movement until she settles back down. It’s once her arm muscles ache that she realises just how long she has been at this for. The clock flashes a sharp reminder that it’s now 4:16, she can scarcely believe how much she has done as she leans over to check on the contents of the nearly empty box, the piles of completed inserts littering the hotel room floor in little hills of varying sizes.

Walk my way

And a thousand violins begin to play

Or it might be the sound of your hello

That music I hear

I get misty whenever you're near

With the last of the inserts done Beatrice silently stands, careful to not shift around more than she needs to. As she crouches down onto her heels to move the stacks of inserts back into the box, the figure on the bed moves and Ava’s sleepy face greets her. One eye fully open while the other hinges between open and closed.

“Wha—Bea, what are you—what time is it?,” Ava asks, rubbing at her eyes, helping her adjust to the low light and no doubt catching the caught in the act expression on Beatrice’s face.

“I wasn’t sleepy and wanted to help,” she answers sheepishly. Ava would have seen it later today anyway.

Ava extends her arm out, “Come to bed.”

Beatrice does as she’s told, foot toppling over several towers of cards in the process. “Are you upset?” she asks as Ava wiggles close and wraps an arm around her.

“I was going to ask you to help anyway.”

You can't see that you're leading me on

And it's just what I want you to do

Don't you notice how hopelessly I'm lost

That's why I'm following you

On my own

Ava doesn’t return to her sleep. Something tells Beatrice that it’s probably all the stress from the tour. Life on the road is hard. Making memories and leaving them behind. Creating a home everywhere and then having to tear it all down again. Forever having to wonder if it may be the last time a place is visited.

“Bea,” Ava murmurs, moving her thumb from side to side where it rests by Beatrice’s tummy.

“Mmm?”

“Will you sing me something?”

(Y)(S)

Beatrice clears her throat, adjusting herself more against the flatness of the bed. “Look at me, I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree and I feel like I'm clingin' to a cloud” she sings out in a hush, lazily drawing circles on Ava’s arm, “I can't understand I get misty just holding your hand.”

—

When I wander through this wonderland alone

Never knowing my right foot from my left

My hat from my glove

I'm too misty and too much in love

—

Present.

Whistling from the kettle startles both of them as they’re being meticulous about arranging family photos. Since their return from Spain at the end of Ava’s tour they’ve been relaxing—basically hibernating—at home as the leaves begin to change around them. It was during week three that Alice dropped off several boxes at the bottom of their steps. ‘Your Abuela threatened me to bring these’, she had said, before she tootled and ran back into her car with the bounce of someone who has a lot of free time to kill.

Upon opening a box, they found hundreds upon hundreds of Ava’s family photos. They had shuffled the rest of the boxes to the side, only taking one up at a time as they carefully and efficiently went through them. It was on day two of this endeavour and multiple visits to the shops for photo albums later that Beatrice had stood, pulling both of their scarves from the coat rack demanding that they go home to Vivian’s to pick up Beatrice’s photos as well.

Levy had teased them as he drove them home with a bulk of neatly arranged photo albums in the boot, ‘The households are truly merging now,’. He of course wasn’t wrong. Without realising, both of them had naturally reached the same decision. They would merge their photos as they went through them. Reconstructing an entire timeline of their lives.

Ava stands from the cushion on the floor, pumpkin coloured woollen socks doing their very best to make her slip in every direction on the way to the kitchen.

Beatrice places another stack of pictures on top of the coffee table, attempting as best she can to put them in some kind of year order. Unlike hers the dates at corners of Ava’s photos are untrustworthy, which is unsurprising but also endearing and all telling of the kind of family she has married into.

As Ava sits back down with a clay teapot in hand, she pours tea first for Beatrice then herself, later settling it on top of the coaster on the floor—away from their precious photos. The wind picks up outside, causing an overgrown branch to scrape against the living room window.

Ava wiggles her toes underneath Beatrice’s bottom from across the coffee table, then sits upright, getting back to business.

“Are you cold? Should I turn up the heater?” Beatrice asks, running a hand up and down her wife’s cold ankle.

“The blanket should be fine,” Ava replies as she stretches her upper body to grab it from the nearby basket, covering their legs underneath the coffee table, outstretched towards each other. “Look how cute you looked here!” she squeals, holding a photograph in front of her face.

Beatrice smiles, reaching for it. “It was the first day of primary school. I was so excited. I had been looking forward to it all Summer,” she recounts, memories from that day coming back as if time hadn’t passed at all. “The jacket didn’t fit me. Mum thought I would grow more before the semester began. She had to pin it at the side. When I came home after school she had already bought a kit to do it herself. Thinking about it now, I don’t think she knew how to sew at all. But she fixed it. The next day I wore it and it fit me perfectly.”

“It's so strange.”

“What is?”

“Vivian,” Ava answers, shuffling through some photos. “How she shows she cares.”

“Parents are weird.”

“Emilia let me wear whatever I wanted.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Within reason of course. ‘Don’t embarrass me, Cachetona, the least you can do is colour match your belt to your shoes,’ the joke was on her though, I went to school the next day wearing a disgusting amalgamation of purple—“ Beatrice stands mid-sentence, the muscles of her legs twinging from hours of inactivity. “Where are you going?”

“You don’t have to ask me where I’m going if I leave your side for a second or two!”

“I need to know, always, that’s the rules. What else am I meant to do? Wait for you to come back? What if I want to go with you?”

Beatrice giggles. “To my satchel?” she teases, reaching into it, “Tada!” Beatrice undoes the clasp showing Ava the inside of her wallet.

“You still have it.”

“I do.”

“I just thought maybe you—”

“It’s underneath our ‘Great Indian Wave’ loyalty card.” Beatrice kneels beside Ava, placing her wife’s school picture down beside her own. “It goes perfectly with mine.”

“Why don’t you keep that one with you, I’m sure Abuela sent several of those. I was quite prolific when it came to taking pictures. Shalom Harlow had nothing on me!” Beatrice nods, slipping it back into her wallet but remaining perfectly content by Ava’s side. “Aha! HERE IT IS!” Ava celebrates by wiggling on her cushion. “Prepare for ultimate cuteness.”

Beatrice’s grabby hands reach for it instantly. “Is that toddler you naked under an umbrella!?”

“Look at those buttcheeks! I remember it so vividly. It was really hot and I wanted to play outside. Emilia took my clothes off so Mom wouldn’t know. She chased after me with a hose. Mom came home early and caught us both,” Ava cackles as she recounts the event. “We got yelled at. I got a good spanking out of it. Emilia too.”

(Y)(S)

Moon river, wider than a mile

I'm crossing you in style someday

A dream maker

My heartbreaker

Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' that way

When it quiets down Ava watches carefully before asking, “What?”

“Nothing,” Beatrice responds with a light shrug, running her thumb across the photo, “Just looking.”

Ava bumps their shoulders together. “No, come on, tell me.”

“I just—I don’t know.”

As Beatrice attempts to look away timidly Ava catches the underlying and unvoiced want. “I keep thinking about it too. Having a mini you.”

Two drifters off to see the world

There's such a crazy world to see

We're all chasin' after all the same

Chasin' after our ends

A breath is slowly released as Ava pulls her hand to hers. Being read so easily leaves Beatrice defenseless, but she can’t help the bliss that comes along with it as well. To be known and to be understood so simply. A wide smile takes over her features as she says, “With the organisational skills and charms of a 67 year old librarian?”

“Exactly,” Ava nuzzles close. “Can you imagine it? She’d be adorable.”

The thing is Beatrice can imagine it—has imagined it. Has had dreams about it. She places a bit of space between them, enough to gaze upon Ava closely. “We have to be sensible about this. It’s not as simple as either of us would like it to be.”

“I know,” Ava is quick to nod, catching on Beatrice’s no nonsense tone.

“We’ve been married for a year and haven’t had time—the proper time for just us yet.”

“I know.”

“If we want this, if we both want this,” Beatrice repeats, the seriousness of her words clear to Ava, “Then we need to start planning for our careers to be on pause.”

“Well, we have the time now,” Ava reasons, reaching for her phone but stops when Beatrice shakes her head.

“We need to start our married lives properly,” Beatrice expresses. She is conscious of Ava’s personality, how a thought like this can make itself at home and not be nurtured as it should be. “You are right, we have the time now. We can slowly start planning it all as we sort ourselves out.”

Moon river, wider than a mile

Crossin' in style someday

My dream maker, heartbreaker

Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' the same

“Are we really doing this?” Ava asks, her gaze fixed on Beatrice.

Beatrice nods, quickly adding, “We’ll need a bigger house.”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY.” Ava shoots to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Beatrice startles to her feet as well, taken aback by the sudden change in energy.

“Downstairs!” Ava shouts over her shoulder as she flings the door open and thunders down the stairs in her woollen socks, setting off all the squeaky stair treads in her haste.

By the time Beatrice catches up with her, barely squeezing into her gumboots and holding Ava’s own close to her chest, her wife is talking a kilometre a minute at their very confused downstairs neighbour with a crazed look on her face.

“How much you want? You want money, I got money. Name a price! Any price! I’m good for it!”

Two drifters off to see the world

It's such a crazy world, you'll see

We're all chasin' after our ends

Chasin' after our ends

Life's just around the bend, my friend

Moon river and me

#warrior nun #avatrice #liturgia #drizzlewrites