That Lilith Voice Inside My Head
Avatrice Week Day 2: Injury/Sick
Beatrice isn’t quite sure what she’s doing, standing outside of Ava’s apartment at 2pm on a Tuesday. Well. She knows what she’s doing, but she’s not certain why.
You know exactly why, Beatrice. For six months now, you have been engaging in the most protracted and gauche courtship ritual I have ever had the misfortune to witness. One or both of you needs to either do something about it or resign in shame. For everyone’s sake.
Disconcertingly, it’s Lilith’s voice that she hears. She’s not certain what that says about the state of her conscience but she doubts it’s anything very good. She shifts the brown paper bag in her arms slightly and retrieves her phone from her pocket to make sure she has the correct address. She does. She did the last three times she checked as well. If she doesn’t make a decision soon, she’ll be bringing Ava cold soup.
She straightens her back, pockets her phone again, and stares at the door. Right. This is ridiculous. Ava is a friend. Ava is a friend who isn’t feeling well. Beatrice is bringing her friend, Ava, pho from the place where they often eat lunch together, because she knows Ava’s order, because they are friends.
Say friend one more time, Beatrice. You are aware that our clients pay you to use language effectively? That you allegedly graduated magna cum laude from a passable law school?
“You’ve seen the diploma. And that’s not how most people refer to Harvard, Lilith.”
Middling, then. It’s certainly no Yale.
Beatrice opens her mouth to answer, but snaps it closed as a woman approaches and passes on her right. Beatrice takes stock of the situation. She’s a grown woman. She’s an objectively accomplished grown woman. She’s an objectively accomplished grown woman engaging in a very petty argument with herself on the street in front of a brownstone in Brooklyn while holding a bag of rapidly cooling soup.
Depressing, isn’t it?
It’s enough. Her inner Lilith isn’t wrong. Although she has a history of being entirely oblivious when women are pursuing her, she has never been this hesitant about pursuing someone else. Well, since she got away from her family and their ghosts, anyway. She likes Ava, in more than a passing way, and she has wanted to be careful. But she can acknowledge that there’s careful and then there’s avoidance so extreme it results in a part of your subconscious taking the form of your harshest, oldest, and most honest friend. She needs to do something.
She takes a deep breath and hits the button for Ava’s apartment. Ava buzzes Beatrice up without even asking who it is, the door clicking open immediately, and Beatrice makes a note to discuss the importance of basic safety practices as she hoists the bag a little higher and climbs the stairs to the third floor.
Ava must be waiting by the door because it’s open essentially the moment Beatrice’s fist makes contact.
“Hi, Bea.”
She’s smiling at Beatrice like she’s exactly who Ava had been hoping for, and Beatrice feels suddenly incoherent, moving her face into something that she hopes very much at least approximates a smile. Ava is wearing blue sweat pants and a tank top, a green robe with sloths engaging in various sloth-appropriate activities closed loosely around her waist. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, and she looks a little bleary from sleep and sickness. Beatrice has never seen her like this. She is…adorable.
Beatrice swallows, opens her mouth to say hello, instead says, “I could have been a murderer.”
My god. Did you learn to flirt from a true crime thread on Reddit?
Beatrice’s shame burns through her; her face is on fire, her stomach a pit of self-loathing. She lifts the bag and says, “I brought you soup.” She is irrationally proud of herself for that recovery.
That is not what I would call a recovery but the bar here is obviously in hell, so well done, I suppose.
Ava blinks at her, clearly not expecting Beatrice to forgo a hello in favor of a violent hypothetical. That is, Beatrice thinks, reasonable. She grimaces and then Ava is laughing, “Camila told me you were coming. I promise I don’t usually buzz people up without checking.” Beatrice briefly considers calling Camila later to discuss the apparent immediate chain of information from her to Ava and to request that Beatrice be consulted before information is passed through it. She dismisses the idea. She has no doubt that the conversation would end with Camila nodding very solemnly and proceeding to change absolutely nothing at all about her behavior.
Ava is still smiling at Beatrice. Beatrice feels this is incredibly generous of her. “Thank you. Come in?”
She pulls the door open wider and Beatrice steps inside, walks the bag toward the the kitchen counter where Ava points. Ava is behind her, moving toward the island, and she puts one hand on the small of Bea’s back to guide her, moving it to Beatrice’s bicep and squeezing gently when she passes. Beatrice nearly destroys the bag, somewhat miraculously manages to get it safely to the counter.
Ava falls into one of the chairs at the island separating her kitchen from the living room and kicks gently at another, which Beatrice prays is an invitation to sit. She takes the hand that Ava places on her knee when she settles in the chair as confirmation. Beatrice expects a brief touch. Instead, Ava’s hand stays. Beatrice is still staring at it when Ava starts speaking, blinks up at the sound.
“Full disclosure, I did watch you stand outside for minimum eight minutes before buzzing my apartment. It looked at one point like you were talking to yourself?”
Ava is smirking, hand still warm on Beatrice’s leg.
“I was. Well, I was also talking to Lilith, but the Lilith inside of my head.” Beatrice pauses, sighs. “Please disregard that.”
“No can do. I’ll absolutely be returning to that later, because so many questions, but for now, I’m more interested in why you stood outside my house for so long being all frowny and cute.”
She moves her leg out slightly to press against Beatrice’s. Beatrice can feel the soft cotton of her sweatpants on the small strip of skin between the hem of her pants and her brogues, the warmth of her up to her calf.
Ava is flirting with her. Beatrice should not be surprised. At this point, only the most conservative and risk-averse part of herself can still posit the theory that Ava may not be interested. Beatrice can be oblivious, but every single one of their mutual friends has expressed to her privately that she’s an idiot for not having done something about this sooner. They’ve also stopped being particularly subtle in shared spaces. Two weeks ago, during board game night, Camila poked Lilith quite aggressively in the ribs when she handed Beatrice a pink figurine to marry in The Game of Life with a droll, “Look, it’s Ava.” While Mary was busy choking on her beer in laughter, Ava had locked eyes with Beatrice and said, in her incredibly earnest way, “Lucky woman, whoever it is.”
So Beatrice should not be surprised. Unfortunately, the conservative and risk-averse part of herself is the part that makes her a better-than-average attorney, and she pays it considerable deference, so she is in fact continuously surprised and rendered speechless or stupid by Ava’s proximity and any demonstrated interest in Beatrice. Currently, she’s fascinated by the blue of Ava’s sweatpants against the black of her slacks.
“Bea.”
She looks up again. Ava has leaned closer, pressed some of her weight into the hand on Beatrice’s leg, which has now migrated to a still socially acceptable, but definitely more distracting, position on her thigh. Her eyes are searching. Beatrice clears her throat, glances away. “Yes. Sorry.”
Look at her, you absolute moron.
“Bea.” Ava’s other hand has come to her jaw, turns Beatrice back to face her. “Just to be totally clear about what’s happening here—I’m flirting with you. I’ve been flirting with you for months. This,” she takes her hand from Beatrice’s jaw and gestures up and down at herself, “Is not exactly how I wanted to have this conversation, but I just watched you lurk on a sidewalk for almost 10 minutes talking yourself up to come see me and it was stupidly cute and it made me want to kiss you. Lots of things make me want to kiss you, and I thought I should probably just tell you that and confirm that you’d want to kiss me back. Because I’m almost totally sure you would.” Beatrice nods and Ava wiggles just slightly in her chair, grinning big. “Awesome. Unfortunately, I can’t actually kiss you right now because I’m currently still like 30% disgusting, which is better enough for me to have told Cam not to stop you from coming here but which is like the absolute maximum you’re allowed to see before we’ve been dating for at least six months.” Ava’s mouth snaps shut and her cheeks bloom red and Beatrice feels something stir in her stomach.
Ah. The elusive backbone. Glad to see it still exists.
Fuck off, Lilith, she thinks and, in a show of real progress, does not say out loud. Channeling all of the determination that got her through her middling law school education, Beatrice manages to get it together enough to tangle her fingers in the ones on her thigh and say, “Three points. Or, two points and a question. First, I take issue with your use of the word disgusting.” She tucks an escaped strand of Ava’s hair behind her ear, “You’re beautiful. Second, I respect your boundaries entirely but just so you’re aware, I would kiss you right now without hesitation. Finally, would you like to go to dinner with me on Saturday?”
The smile Ava gives her is perfect and bright and Beatrice feels like she’s done something right in this, which, given how she began their interaction today, is quite the relief.
“Yes. I really, really would.”
