ten: endgame

*

Kaylani won’t stop bugging me. I got to work at eight this morning, after spending all of Sunday floating on cloud nine once Storie and I parted ways after lunch with my family. She had to get back, so I hung out with my family for a few hours and answered their myriad of questions, and I promised Daria that she’ll see Storie again; Dad drove me back to my apartment, and I didn’t care about the cold. Instead, I treated myself to a hot chocolate from the café down the block, and I bought a pack of Christmas cards.

I don’t usually write them. But yesterday, while my uniform was spinning in the dryer and I sat next to it for the heat, I wrote a card to each member of Storie’s family. Her and Kris and Grey; her mom and her stepdad; even her little brother Jasper and her step-sister-in-law, Navya. They’re all named and sealed, waiting for Wednesday.

I can’t believe it’s only two days away. Two days until I work a shorter shift and I get into Storie’s passenger seat for the hour’s drive to Five Oaks, and I see her family for the first time in four years. Part of me is sick with nerves, but a much bigger part is just so fucking grateful and desperately in love.

And Kaylani can smell it. She’s a bloodhound. The moment I stepped into the office to swap my coat for an elf robe, she pounced, pestering me with questions about complicated girl and like a dog with a bone, it’s hard to shake her off. I’ve done a decent job of avoiding her for the past few hours, but there’s nowhere to hide on my lunch break as I dig into free stew. Honestly, this job may be under-stimulating and I may have to wear the most hideous outfit, but I can’t complain about the free food and the under-the-table cash in hand.

“Come on, Liam,” Kaylani says, sliding onto the bench opposite me, a thick dollop of stew slopping over the side of her bowl. “Take pity on me. I’m here, doing this, like fifty hours a week. I’m tired and bored and all my friends have gone to LA and New York and Austin, so please humor me.” Her dark eyes search me, her mouth set in a severe line. “You’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

“That’s really sad, Kaylani,” I say. “This is only my sixth day here.”

“I’m well aware of how tragic it is.” She sits with one foot on the bench, her arm wrapped around her knee. “But I’ve latched onto your love story and I need updates to keep me sane. So please. Tell me. How’s it going with complicated girl? You haven’t even told me her name yet. Or why it’s complicated,” she says through a mouthful.

“Her name’s Storie,” I say, relenting at last when the stew warms me from the inside out – and, yeah, I pity Kaylani a bit. “It’s complicated because we dated in college and I broke her heart because I was a total jerk, but now we’re giving it another go.”

Her eyebrows dance. “Spill the juice,” she says. “What’d you do? How much of a jerk?”

I sigh.

And I tell her the whole story.

When I say the whole story, I mean it. I don’t try to brush over what I did; I don’t try to make myself sound good; I don’t try to justify myself. I just tell her the straight facts. Her wince becomes a grimace and by the end of the tale, she’s shaking her head.

“Damn, Liam. Dude. That’s bad.”

“I know.”

“No offence but, like, why does she wanna give you a second chance?” She slathers a piece of bread in butter and dips it in her bowl.

“Because we were great together.”

“But you were such a dick! Man, Liam, if it were me, I wouldn’t give you another chance.”

I glare at her. “Thanks, Kaylani. Luckily it isn’t you, girl I’ve known for a week who is weirdly comfortable being mean to me.”

“Now I get why you said it’s complicated. Thanks for sharing. I’ll expect weekly updates on the progress of this strange second chance.”

I shake my head at her and go back to my stew, contemplating cutting my lunch break short so I can get moving again and do something other than sit here with Kaylani’s judgement.

“In all seriousness,” she says after a few moments of quiet, “thanks for telling me the truth. That’s the first step towards a deep and meaningful friendship. And for what it’s worth”—not a ton, I think—“it sounds like you really love her. If you’d followed through with that disgusting contest then I’d be telling her to run as far and fast as possible, so you definitely could’ve been worse.” Her spoon clanks in her bowl, scraping up every last drop of gravy. “Sometimes good can come from bad, I guess. Like flowers in the sidewalk.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

Maybe Kaylani’s not that bad. She’s intense and annoying, sure. But maybe we will become friends. I could certainly do with more of those.

“Your turn,” I say. “I shared my drama. What’s yours?”

“Not applicable. I’m a drama-free zone, Liam. I enjoy collecting other people’s messes to make up for the extreme lack of my own.”

“Come on. You don’t have any awkward relationship stories? No exes you want to revisit?”

“Ew. No.” She wrinkles her nose. “My body is a temple. I don’t do relationships.”

“At all?”

“I’m aro-ace. It’s not for me.”

“Oh. Fair enough. Any family drama? Workplace drama? Friend drama?” I ask. “You gotta give me something, Kaylani. I just told you in mortifying detail about how much of an absolute dick I used to be; I need payment.”

She laughs, and it transforms her face from moody and serious to bright and joyful. “I’ll keep you posted, buddy. Nothing to report yet.”

“That is so not fair.”

She gives me a dramatic shrug. “What can I say? I like to observe the chaos, but I don’t invite it into my life.”

“And with that, I think my lunch is over. See you later.”

I have a couple minutes left, actually. But she salutes me as I deposit my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and I get back to work, counting down the hours until my shift is over and I can get the bus to Storie’s. She’s working until six thirty today, so I’m getting off at five so I can head back to mine to shower and change before I hop on the 22. I hate buses, but there’s a stop a block from my apartment that takes me to within three blocks of Storie’s, and it’s more convenient than trying to find parking downtown.

Five o’clock can’t come quick enough. At four, Kaylani called me over to Santa’s Grotto because a five-year-old got so overexcited about meeting Father Christmas that he puked everywhere, and apparently puke duty falls on the shoulders of the newest elf. It’s not like I can’t deal with puke – when you have six siblings, and you live in a party frat for two years, you get used to vomit – but there was something so degrading about trying to crouch down to clean up some crying kid’s barf while praying my tights didn’t rip, because the last thing I need right now is to be done for indecent exposure.

When Kaylani radios me again at four fifty-five, I consider not answering. I am not grabbing another spillage kit. But she finds me outside at four fifty-eight, flogging a last-minute Christmas tree to a divorced dad, and once the dude has chosen one to get netted, she catches me.

“My shift is over in literally thirty seconds,” I say. “If you’ve got another code blue, please find someone else you can delegate to because I’ve got to go.”

She’s trying not to laugh. “Code blue? Isn’t that, like, a heart attack?”

“The kid had clearly demolished a blue raspberry slushie,” I say. “It was very blue.”

She snorts. “All right then. No, it’s not a code blue. It’s a code green.”

“What’s that? A snot explosion?”

“Dude.” She makes that snorting noise again. “Code green is when Elf Number Eight, who happens to be your size, gets a better job and quits on the spot and leaves his uniform in the office. I tried radioing you – take it home with you, give it a wash, and you’ll have a bit more space to breathe tomorrow.”

“Oh. Thank you. That’d be nice.” I don’t think she needs to know how much my balls are suffocating in this costume; she can see how little arm movement I have. “Who’s Elf Number Eight?”

“Baz.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s the guy whose uniform belongs to you now. And it’s after five, so go get it and have fun with Storie tonight.” She puts her hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me towards the main building. “Seeya tomorrow, Liam. Don’t come in hungover.”

“What? I would never,” I say, alarmed. “Why would you say that?”

Her eyes are full of mischief. “Because you, my friend – yes, I’m using the F word, get with it – are drunk on love.”

*

It’s snowing. Again. By the time the bus pulls up I’ve been waiting here for twenty minutes, freezing my butt off, and my numb fingers struggle to unlock my phone to show the driver my ticket. The twenty-minute ride to Storie’s is more like thirty-five, thanks to the weather and rush hour, and to top it off, I slip on a patch of ice when I step onto Superior Avenue and go down hard on my already frozen ass.

The walk to Storie’s is painful and feels a hell of a lot longer than three blocks, and I get a dirty look from a resident who doesn’t seem to like that I know the code for the building’s door. At least the elevator doesn’t die on me. I may be cold and bruised but I make it to the twenty-fifth floor in one piece and when Storie opens the door, I sink into her arms.

“I was beginning to wonder where you’d got to,” she says, pushing the door shut. It smells like heaven in here. She’s cooking up a storm, the air filled with the aroma of onion and garlic sizzling in a frying pan, and my stomach gives off an appreciative rumble.

“It’s crazy busy out there,” I say. “You’d have thought it’s nearly Christmas or something.”

She chuckles. “Four more days. Are you ready?”

I go still. “Four? Seriously?”

I mean, I knew the twenty-third was two days away but somehow it didn’t compute that Christmas is in four days. “No. I’m not ready at all. Shit. It’s been a weird month. I haven’t bought any presents.”

She lifts her eyebrows at me, spatula in hand. “Are you sure you want to have dinner with me?”

“I want nothing more.”

“You wouldn’t rather be out doing last minute shopping?”

I’m not even sure I have enough money in my accounts for presents. “I want to be here. With you,” I say. I step closer, and I reach out a tentative hand. My fingers brush her waist. She closes her hand around mine, her palm warm. A thousand memories rush through my mind, golden memories of her every line and curve, every plane of smooth brown skin.

“I want you here too,” she says, her fingers closing over mine, her thumb brushing over the back of my hand.

I pull her into a hug and she buries her face in my chest, my shirt only slightly warmer than the Arctic temperatures outside. I can feel the heat of her cheek through the thin material; her back is soft and warm beneath my hands, her body so familiar and yet such a stranger to me for the past four years. I don’t know this Storie, not really. We can’t pick up where we left off, not really. But I want to kiss her so badly.

Before I can even contemplate acting on that, she eases herself away from me and says, “I’ve warned my family.”

“That sounds ominous.” I grimace. She gives me a small smile and stirs the sauce before turning her back on the stove.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “I called home yesterday and Tad answered. Mom wasn’t home, which made it easier, I think. I told him that you and I are back together and that you’re coming with me on Wednesday, and that none of them are allowed to be dicks to you because this is my decision and it’s one I’ve made with a sound mind.”

“Wow. How’d Tad take it?”

“He was pretty stunned. Well. Very stunned.” She chuckles. “He promised to pass the full message onto Mom and said he’d have a chat with Jasper about not being a jerk to you.”

I can’t help but grin at the idea of adorable little Jasper being a jerk, though I know full well that kids that age are sponges with no filter. If he’s picked up on any negativity about me, he could be the most devastating.

“I gotta say, I’m pretty nervous,” I say. Really, I’m shitting myself.

“It’ll be fine, I promise."

She has never broken a promise to me.

“Does Gray know?”

She nods, but she won’t meet my eye all of a sudden. Dinner preparation becomes more interesting, her attention focused on the king prawns defrosting on the counter.

“How’d he take it?” I ask. Storie twists open a bottle of white wine and pours a couple of generous glasses.

“He, uh…”

“Come on, I need to be prepared,” I say, trying to sound light-hearted but in reality I’m wondering if it’s still too soon to see her family again.

“He was … shocked, to say the least.” Content that the garlic tomato sauce is bubbling away nicely, as is the pasta water, Storie motions to the table and we take a seat at the same time. “Some stern words were exchanged. But that’s to be expected. I mean, Gray’s my brother. He’s my best friend. He looks out for me like crazy, so he was confused. And worried. But we video called for, like, four hours last night and I think I got through to him.”

“You think?” I let out a wary laugh. She touches my calf with her toes.

“I know I did. It’s going to be okay, Liam. Tad said that all he and Mom want is for me to be happy, and look at me.” She paints on a dazzling smile, deep dimples in her cheeks, her eyes bright. “I’m happy. All Gray wants is for me to be with someone who loves me right and treats me well.”

“I will. I do,” I say.

“I know.” She stands when the pasta water bubbles over. “I never felt unloved with you.” Her hand grazes my shoulder as she passes me; when she comes back, spatula in hand, she leans against my chair. “Taste this.”

I have a mouthful of hot, delicious sauce when she adds, “I’m not scared. I have no doubts. I love you, Liam.”

It’s not the first time she’s said the words, but I still choke on them, throwing myself into a coughing fit when a chunk of paprika-smoked onion goes down the wrong way. She hands me a glass of water before I reach to glug the wine and I swallow the lot.

“I love you too, Storie,” I say at last. “And the sauce, by the way, is fucking amazing.”

*

With four years to catch up on, there isn’t a single moment of stilted silence as we eat. The only moments of quiet are pauses of appreciation, those comfortable moments between two people who know how to be together. And Storie and I know how to be together. I’m so content, once dinner’s over and we’re sitting on the couch with pleasantly full stomachs and refilled glasses, and she’s playing music that her stepdad introduced her to, the soundtrack to our evening.

“I think you’ll like this one; it reminds me of you,” she says as she puts on a new song, and I don’t know what it is about this moment, why this is the right time, but it is.

And we both know it. Halfway through the song, already sitting close, she looks at me as I bask in this song that puts me in her head, and we just know.

I’m not even sure who leans in first. But our lips meet, and my hand is running through her hair, and her hands are cupping my jaw, and I’m inhaling her as we kiss. We both have garlic wine breath from dinner but it doesn’t matter, I couldn’t care less; she is in my arms and she’s kissing me back, her tongue nudging mine and her teeth grazing my lip, sending electric sparks shooting through every part of my body.

Our first kiss was nothing special. I hardly remember it. We were at a party in the frat; I was wasted. It was messy. But this, our second chance at a first kiss … this is the fireworks I’ve heard about. This is lightheaded passion and thrill. This is perfection.

I don’t know how long it lasts. I pass into another dimension for a little while. When I snap back into the moment, our lips parting, Storie’s lipstick is smudged, probably smeared all over my mouth now, and there’s a hint of redness beneath her cheeks, and she’s smiling so wide. I’m speechless. I’m just staring at her all gooey-eyed because wow, and she looks starry-eyed, and I don’t want to puncture the moment.

Storie’s the first to talk. Her pupils are wide in the dim night light; mine must be huge, drinking her in.

“That was a long time coming,” she says, fanning her cheeks. It’s definitely gotten a lot hotter in here in the last five minutes. “I was worried I might’ve forgotten how to do that.”

“You certainly didn’t,” I say, my lips tingling with the memory of hers. “That was…”

I can’t find the words, but it doesn’t matter. Storie leans in again, hunger in her eyes, and the second kiss is somehow more. Deeper, more desperate, more heart-squeezing. She bunches my shirt in her hands as she takes my breath away and I hold her, my arms draped around her waist, fingers resting at the small of her back where her sweater has ridden up and I can feel bare skin.

It almost feels like a violation, touching that naked patch of skin above her jeans. It’s been so long. I’m pretty rusty. More than a year has passed since I kissed anyone and I don’t want to do it wrong but our bodies know their rhythms, we are totally in sync until I forget how to breathe and have to break away, my lips swollen.

“I think I remember now,” she says, tidying her lipstick with her thumb and taking a sip of wine. “I’ve really missed that.”

“Me too,” I say, hardly able to form the words. My head’s an empty puff of cloud at the moment, a circus of delirious joy.

Wow. I can’t ever lose her again, except the way I lose myself her in her eyes, the deepest brown that draws me in and holds me in a tight embrace. This is it, I think. Storie and me. Me and Storie. We’re endgame.

*

it's been a while, sorry! the usual story of being busy at work and not prioritising very well, as well as my laptop dying on me (I wrote this on my phone so please excuse any weird typos or formatting errors!)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!