🧛🏻‍♀️

Melissa finally catches your attention on the last day of school when you’re spending your final moments in your classroom. The posters are off the walls, all of the stuffed animals have been rehomed with your students, and not a single fairy light is left hanging on the ceiling. An overwhelming sense of emptiness fills you while you look around- just like the rest of your life. You’re leaving a place you love with people that you had come to care about. Once again you are ripping up roots that you thought could be permanent. 

As you sit on the edge of your desk, you wonder if what you’re doing is right. Your students had left your kindergarten classroom with tears in their eyes, hugging you and telling you that they’d miss you over the break and couldn’t wait to see you next year. You, knowing you shouldn’t say anything to them about your absence, had put on a brave smile, embraced them tightly, and promised them that you would be delighted to hear how their summers went; that if their parents wanted to email you throughout the summer with pictures, you would be more than happy. You know that your email will be deactivated soon- probably by the end of June. You were breaking a promise, and intentionally breaking a promise to children. How... how could you do that? 

You’re mulling over this thought when the sound of the door closing catches your attention. You jump slightly and look to find the redhead staring at you with a sad look in her eye. How long she’s been there, you don’t know, but you hop off your desk to get away from her. 

“What do you want, Ms. Schemmenti?” you ask curtly, eyes never meeting hers. Instead, you busy yourself with packing up various pens and pencils on your desk, making sure that every trace of you was erased from this room. It’s best if you don’t leave a trail- just slip away into the world like you always have.

“Can we talk? I have been tryin’ to hunt you down for days, ki…Y/N,” she explains taking a small step towards you.

You take a bigger step back and the movement physically pains Melissa. You clutch your bag close, “I have nothing to say to you. I will walk out that door and never bother you again.”

“Please, don’t leave just yet,” Melissa’s voice cracks just a little, “I want to apologize. I’ve been trying to apologize for a couple of weeks now.”

“For what exactly?” you retort, the anger building rapidly in your chest. You still don’t look into her eyes. You know that, for as much anger as you’ve harbored over this year, you’ll lose every ounce of fire if you so much as look at what you can assume is a heartbroken face- you had heard that crack in her voice. 

“For the fact that you physically assaulted me and dug your nails into my skin so tightly I had bruises?” you continue. “I should’ve filed a report right then and there, but I told Ava not to bother. Or is it for the snide comments at lunch every day? How about how you criticize my personal notes on a daily basis? Is it for the time you told me I couldn't read because I admitted I have dyslexia, even though you also have it? Maybe, could it be how you constantly minimize and disregard my teaching style?”

Each question makes Melissa flinch. She had done all of those things and more. She goes to speak, but you stop her with a sarcastic laugh.

“My favorite thing of all though? It’s the way you hated me from the moment I stepped foot in the building, and you made it your personal mission to make sure I would never forget the way that I am a failure and will always be just short of good enough,” your voice shakes now, and your eyes surge with the angry tears you force back. “Which aspect of my personal hell would you like to relive? Please enlighten me.”

Melissa wishes she could name every feeling that burns through her as you speak: shame, guilt, self-loathing, anxiety, mortification, helplessness, regret, disgust- the list could go on forever if she let it. Her hand curls into a fist, her nails cutting into her palm but the pain is only a fraction of what she has caused you. She wants to speak, wants to apologize for everything you’ve just listed and more, but there is a stone lodged in her throat and a pit in her stomach that seems to consume her. The silence trickles into minutes, and you run a hand through your hair in frustration. The movement causes another glimpse of your soulmate tattoo- Melissa’s soulmate tattoo- and it breaks her trance.

“I'm sorry, I should have never done those things to you. You didn't deserve any of it,” Melissa explains, her voice unsteady. “I was a complete and utter asshole to you.”

“That’s putting it lightly, Melissa. So yeah, forgive me if your pathetic excuses of apologies with post-it's, copies, and coffee isn’t enough for me to forgive you,” you sigh, and the redhead's heart flutters for just a moment. It’s been so long since she heard her name on your lips. The moment lasts for only a second as another knife plunges deep in Melissa’s gut at your next words.

“I have been told my whole life I am not good enough, that I'm always less than in some ways, and too much in others,” you start, and when the dam opens you can't stop what happens next. 

“For as long as I can remember, my mother has always told me I'm nothing. You know how cruel that is? To have the one person who is supposed to love you from the moment your eyes open- to tell you that you mean… nothing. Then, I went to school and for years I was told I was smart…but not smart enough. Always just on the wrong side of any awards or scholarships; that even though I had dyslexia and did every damned thing I could to keep up- excel even- it still wasn’t enough.”

That one hurts Melissa on a more personal level. She understands that more than she’s willing to admit.

“On top of academics, every day I was picked on and bullied for never being pretty enough or popular enough. Was always called dumb- and somehow also a nerd. Then, in high school a girl tricked me into being her friend -had me falling in love with her- just so she could turn around and tell the whole school I was gay. You know what happens to gay kids in small town conservative high schools? You don’t, because you grew up in a liberal area, and dated men. So, let me enlighten you.”

You take a deep breath, as you prepare yourself to relive some of the worst days of your life. “They are beaten, ridiculed, and mentally tortured. I thought college would be different, but instead I fell for the wrong girl. Who made me feel even smaller- picked away at me until I was nothing- who made sure I knew I was never going to find love. Then, it just kept happening; a cycle over and over again of me putting myself on the line and being shoved into the dirt. I came to Abbott because my ex was at my old school. She made sure every private thing I shared with her was public knowledge until the thought of going into school was embarrassing torture.”

You choke on a bit of air before you continue, “I wanted to start fresh, but instead…instead I started the cycle all over again. But, I think this time it was worse because you didn't even give me a chance. You immediately looked at me, thought I was a fuck up, and didn't let me prove you different.”

You’re crying now, but you don't care.  For the first time in your life, you had stood up for yourself- even when your voice shook. You can see how much it hurts Melissa to be associated with the tremendous pain that came before, and a tiny piece of you ached. You can’t bring yourself to care that you’re making yourself vulnerable in front of the one coworker who never showed you an ounce of kindness until she crossed the line and was made aware of it because of Barbara- you had heard your grade level partner scolding her while running out. Melissa hurt you for so long, and now she deserves to see just how powerful her actions and words can be.You smother the feeling down- nothing you said had been untrue-for once in your life, you weren't going to apologize for feeling hurt.

“You aren't nothing,” Melissa whispers with another million words swirling in her head. She wants to reach out to you- to mend your broken pieces- give you the opportunity to see you through her eyes. 

“Then why do you hate me?” you cry out. You don’t even bother to wipe your tears. They just continuously stream down your face. “I know you treat all newbies like that, but... even Ava told me that she has never seen you treat a new hire the way you treated me- and I know I shouldn’t always believe what Ava has to say, but Barbara was there. Barbara was nodding along, confirming that you have never been so terrible to another coworker in the time that you’ve been working with her.”

When the redhead in front of you reaches for you, you pull yourself away angrily. You act as if her touch would scorch your skin- burn you. “You know what? I don’t even care anymore. I’m putting this place behind me, and I’m putting you in my past. I- I hope you got what you were looking for this year, Melissa.”

You grab one of the last two boxes and leave your classroom to walk over to Barbara’s classroom.

The veteran teacher glances up at you as she’s stacking the last of her chairs, and her smile falls once she sees the red rings around your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Barbara pauses her work to pull you into a hug. “If this is how you feel leaving us, you don’t have to. Ava still hasn’t filed for your resig-”

“It- It’s not that,” you whisper as you set the box in your hands down on her desk. “It’s-”

“Y/N,” Melissa comes to the classroom.

“Melissa, I don’t think now is a-” Barb starts, but then she takes notice of the tears now also trailing down on Melissa’s face.

Melissa pushes past Barbara completely ignoring her. “Y/N wait, I need to show you something.”

You turn to look at her to plead for her to leave you alone. Before you say anything she pushes back your hair exposing your soulmate tattoo. With her other hand she pulls at the waistband of her slacks to reveal her hipbone. The fabric moves away just enough to expose a matching tattoo. 

The whole world comes to a halt and, you gulp, “No, no-it can't be.”

“But it is.” It isn’t the voice you expect to hear. It’s not Melissa’s; it’s Barbara’s.

You pull away from Melissa harshly, and you see the way her face falls, but you can’t stop to look at her right now. No. Your eyes land on your grade level partner with a fire that neither woman has seen before. Just a few minutes earlier, Melissa thought you had unleashed your wrath on her, but at this very moment, she realizes that there is a big difference between your anger and your hurt. 

“You knew,” you point an accusatory finger. “You fuckin’ knew? And you didn’t tell me?!”

Barb takes a step back as she raises her hands in surrender. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t tell you.”

“How long have you known?” you ask her, ignoring her question. “How long have you known and chosen not to tell me?!”

“Y/N, babygirl,” your colleague says calmly. “Take a deep breath.”

“I will not,” you state defiantly. “Answer my question.”

“I- I’ve known since... the second week of you being here,” Barbara admits, and with the way that Melissa’s jaw drops, you know this is new information to her. “I wanted to tell you both, but you know that other legend that if someone else tells you who you are, it won’t work. So, I wanted to tell you, but I wanted the two of you to find each other more.”

You rub at your temples as you attempt to take all of this information- this life changing information- in.

You turn to Melissa. “And how long have you known? And tell me why you didn’t tell me.”

“I knew that day I saw your tattoo,”  Melissa whispers, “I tried…but you wouldn't look at me let alone talk to me.”

Your anger only stutters for a moment when the truth hits deep. “I… Fuck… I can't do this right now. No. No. I refuse.”

“Y/N, please,” Melissa begs, holding out her hand. “Give me a chance. Just give me a chance.”

You go to speak but the words catch in your throat. It’s too much information all at once with way too many messy feelings attached- feelings you smother any time they try to rise- but now you can't seem to escape. Between reliving your past, and this new information that absolutely changes your whole world, you feel so overwhelmed- beyond overwhelmed. You know the panic attack is coming only a second before it slams down on you. You shake your head, backing up until your back hits the wall. Barbara steps back, but Melissa steps forward- a look of pure dread in her eye.

You close your eyes as you desperately try to ground yourself, but you can feel it all starting to slip. The crack in your usual facade is worse than you thought it could have been. Your breath catches - then stalls - then stops completely. The fact that there is no new oxygen hitting your lungs? It only causes you to panic more, and your legs give way. You slide along the wall and hit the floor in a tight ball, snapping the breath back into you. But it comes in desperate pants. You might have air reaching your lungs at this point, but it's far too little. Your body shakes while your hands curl into fists, the room feels hot and cold all at the same time, the voices in your head overpower everything around you. You fight to find a way out, but the darkness presses in on all sides. 

Melissa is next to you within a moment, but Barbara’s voice is piercing. “That isn't a good idea, Melissa. What if you make it worse?”

“Get the fuck out, Barb!” Melissa snaps, and she knows her friend is hurt, but she doesn’t care. The only thing that matters right now is making sure that she can ground you.

“Melissa, I will not leave when Y/N is-” the kindergarten teacher protests. “-I will not!”

“Barbara!” the redhead practically bites out. “She’s my soulmate! I can do this!”

“And she is my mentee, and like a daughter to me at this point!”

That one little comment cuts through the rest of the haziness. Barbara thinks of you as a daughter. She loves you. She wants to be here for you- unlike... unlike your actual mother, who has shaken you through panic attacks and told you that you were crazy. And that brings back thoughts of your biological mother and sends you into a whole other tizzy.

“Barb,” you gasp out. You want to tell her to leave, that you don’t want her to see you in such a vulnerable state, but you can’t. So instead, you point to her and gesture to the door.

And because it’s you telling the kindergarten teacher to leave and not Melissa, she gives in to your request. She leaves the room quietly, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, hoping that that brings you down just a little. Then she shoots Melissa a look, silently conveying that she needs to bring you back down to Earth and exits.

There is a pull to protect you, one that trumps any formality or decency. Melissa crouches over you protecting you from view as Barbara lingers by the door. She practically growls at Barbara until the older woman leaves the room shutting the door behind her. Once alone, the tension in her shoulders doesn't lessen- just smooths out as she sits to face you. Her legs box you in securely yet still loosely enough that you don't feel caged in.

She places her hands gently on top of yours. You jump out instinctively- a flashback of your mother grabbing you by the shoulders to attempt to shake you out of your panic, but you don’t move away. So she presses forward, “Honey, it’s just me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here.”

She doesn't ask how to pull you out of this trance - you couldn't have told her if you tried- just rubs a reassuring hand up and down your arm. She hums softly, hoping that you can grab onto her voice and hold onto it through the typhoon of voices in your head. With her other hand she uncurls your fingers, placing it against her thigh.

“See? That’s me,” she soothes, letting your hand wrap around hers tightly- much more tightly than she would’ve expected. “I'm here. I ain’t runnin’, and I ain’t lettin’ you go- not again.”

She repeats the same movement with your other hand then leans forward to press her forehead against yours. Her low humming continues, and it continues to subtly ground you. You feel her presence wrap around you like a cloud of smoke. The shaking has stopped as you ground into her, but your breath still struggles to find a consistent rhythm.

“I got you, mi amore,” she whispers, placing a protective hand on your thigh. “We gotta breathe though. I'll walk us through it. It doesn’t have to be perfect when we start. We’s gonna  get there. Yeah?”

You nod your head just once, and Melissa starts. She draws a box on your thigh as she speaks numbers aloud. Breathe in- 1,2,3,4. Hold- 1,2. Breathe out 1,2,3,4. Hold 1,2. She repeats it over and over till your breath calms. Melissa doesn't even have to ask why you only hold for two seconds instead of four. She just knows, and the fact makes you melt a little more.

You aren't sure how much time passes, but Melissa never moves; she just stays with her forehead pressing against yours as she counts slowly while also humming softly. Finally you uncurl your legs and arms, and there’s a part of you that wants to reach for her- she is your soulmate afterall, and it finally makes sense to you why your spine has always tingled when you’re around her. Only now that you're back in your own body, do you understand that you have always felt a pull towards her. But you resist your wants. And then, without a beat of hesitation, she pulls you to her cradling you in her lap as if she can read your mind and knows exactly what you want. Even now that your head isn’t nearly as foggy as it once was, Melissa knows that you won’t ask for this- something inside of her is just telling her to pull you in and not let go. She pulls you close as she leans against the wall for stability. With one hand running through your hair and the other one rubbing circles down your back, she lets herself breathe.

“You are okay,” she whispers. “I got you. I'm here. You are safe. I ain’t leaving.”

You realize this is the first time in your life you have never had to explain to someone how to take care of you. Melissa just knew. And in that moment, you understand that she absolutely, without a doubt, is your soulmate.

It all makes sense now. Those feelings in your stomach whenever you were around her weren’t bubbles of anger; they were butterflies. The lingering looks the two of you gave each other whenever you were near; it’s the undeniable attraction from a force high above either of you.

Your eyes focus on the woman. “Melissa.”

“I’m right here,” she tells you softly, quietly, with more warmth than you had ever heard from her before.

“I know,” you whisper. Now that you have control of your breathing and your body again, you squeeze the redhead’s hand gently. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for letting me be here for you,” the second grade teacher smiles at you, and for the first time, it’s a genuine smile directed at you.

Unsure of what to do now- there’s been so much information thrown on you in the past hour- you sigh and start to get to your feet. You’re a bit shaky, and you have to lean on the wall, but not for long. Before you know what’s happening, your soulmate’s arm is looped around your waist and offering you support.

“Easy, Y/N,” Melissa tells you. “You just had the panic attack of your life.”

You bite your lip. If she’s your soulmate, you may as well admit this now. “They- they aren’t the most uncommon thing for me.”

“And that’s alright,” the second grade teacher assures you quietly. “I’ll be here through them all.”

You take a deep breath and look at her. “How can you go from hating me with every fiber of your being to telling me you’ll be here for me through everything?” You hate the way your voice shakes as you ask the question, but you need the answer.

“I-” Melissa worries her bottom lip through her teeth. “I never hated you. Wanted to, sure. But never did. Saw the way you’re great with the kids, saw the way that you seamlessly implanted yourself into the school- as much as I wanted to hate it. Didn’t hate that you’re easy on the eyes,” she chuckles a bit awkwardly as she runs a hand through her own red locks. “Knew you were somethin’ special. Just didn’t know that you were my soulmate... until I saw your tattoo by accident. That was the day I had my hand around your wrist- didn’t even realize I was hurting you until Barb pulled me off. I was so in shock and in my own head that the world around me stopped. And I- I’m sorry I did that.”

You blow out a heavy breath. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” she just nods. “You okay?”

You exhale softly. “I- I think so.”

“Good,” she murmurs. “Good. That’s good. We should... uh, get outta here. I’m sure Barb’s right on the other side of that door pacing and praying that you’re okay and that we’re okay.”

You think that Melissa will let go of your waist, but she holds it almost tighter now as you walk to the door. You open it, and Barbara almost faceplants as she stumbles forward. 

“Listened the whole time, didn't ya?” Melissa asks, and you can sense the hurt mixed in the humor.

Barbara smooths down her shirt as she steps back. “I had to make sure my daughter was safe.”

“I know how to care for my soulmate. I don't need a babysitter,” The redhead jabs.

You can tell Barbara is about to say something snippy back- extending the argument, but you hold up a hand- you don’t have the mental capacity for this. “Can we please stop fighting for a minute? I'm tired, and I want to go home.”

“I can take you home,” they both say in unison, and you sigh.

You release yourself from Melissa’s hold, go back into Barbara’s classroom to gather your box, and then head into your own room to get the last of your belongings. Immediately, you see the two work wives tripping over themselves to help you.

“Sweetheart, I can help you and take you home,” Barbara tells you as she follows you.

“Or I could- you know, since I’m your soulmate,” Melissa trails behind.

You roll your eyes. “Ladies, I appreciate the willingness to help, but my car is here, and- and I think I just need a bit of time to process everything: leaving Abbott, finding my soulmate- someone I thought hated me with everything in her-, and finding out that Barb thinks of me as a daughter? That’s a lot.”

Green eyes meet yours, silently begging you to let her take care of you, but you shake your head. She nods, resigned.

“I- I just need... I don’t know,” you sigh as you head out of the school.

Melissa knows exactly how she is going to get you back when school starts again on Monday- well, she hopes she does. She’s spent hours trying to figure out how to make it up to you, but at this point she had no confidence in herself. She’ll either win you over, or she’ll die trying. And if she’s being honest with herself? She may die trying.

It starts with something that she thinks is simple and sweet: little sticky notes placed on your desk with little phrases. Throughout the year you have always had little reminders stuck on your planner, your computer screen, your keyboard, a few pinned on the bulletin board by your desk- a different phrase every time but always something to remind you of who you are. Melissa used to pick on you enough because of them that they finally started to hide on the inside pages instead of the binding on the outside. It was the first mistake that Melissa wants to make up for. 

You’re very clearly avoiding the break room as much as possible, so Melissa sneaks into the building before you come into school on Monday. You always keep your door locked, but Melissa springs it open with ease, not even bothering to ask Mr.Johnson to open it for her.

She glances around at your room. This is really the first time she’s stepped into your classroom further than the doorframe to yell for her work wife. Your room is... it’s different from Barb’s, yet it still has that warmth that every kindergarten classroom should have. Her eyes land on a few of the post-it notes that you’ve written for yourself, taped to the desk drawers. And then her eyes land on a small little turtle figurine- no doubt bought from one of the Jersey shores. It makes her smile with an ease that she hasn’t felt since... in a long time.

With a shake of the head and a shaky exhale, she reaches for one of the post-it note stacks and picks up a pen.

In her own scrawl, not the teacher handwriting that she uses for her students, she writes, I never meant to hurt you. You are worth so much more than you know. She follows it up with: I’m sorry. -Melissa. She doodles a heart before leaving it on your desk and heading out.

When you walk into the school that day, you can’t help the sense of dread that is filled within you. It’s that sense of dread that you felt on Friday, the feeling of knowing you essentially have to fade into the walls of Abbott and make yourself as unassuming as possible- something that the day you escaped her clutches, you promised yourself you would never, ever do again.

Your door is slightly ajar when you come to it. You could’ve sworn you locked the door before you left for the weekend; you always do. But with a shrug, you make your way into your classroom and drop your belongings behind your desk before settling into your desk chair. And then your eyes land on the note. 

You read it once, twice, then a third time. Your heart aches, your eyes fill with tears, but your mind races. It’s a mixture of emotions, and you don't have time to feel all of them right now. You have to focus on the work you have ahead of you for the day. You grab the note, crumbling it up in your hand. You hesitate over the trash can, a piece of you unwilling to let it go. Why are you hesitating to let it go? Eventually finger by finger you let it drop. You close your eyes as it drops, hoping it will help ease the pain. It doesn't in the slightest, but it also means you don't see when it falls into the desk drawer you always leave open just a crack because it sticks instead of the trash can.

There’s a small part of you that wants to retrieve the note- a small part of you that wants to forgive Melissa for all that she’s done to you- but you don’t. Instead, you turn to your work.

Melissa wants to know if you’ve gotten her note. She’s constantly on the lookout for you, trying to trace your movements, look for even a glance over in her direction. You don’t give it to her.

You don’t enter the staff room for lunch. Barbara sighs heavily. She knows that while you’re extremely upset still by what has taken place on top of your decision to leave Abbott after this school year, she was hoping that you would at least continue to have lunch with her- keep her in your circle. But to you? Barbara is Melissa’s- they’ve been coworkers for years, work wives for years, best friends since long before you came into the picture.

You slip out, making sure that you lock your door, once the teachers’ bell rings. You give a cordial wave to Barbara, who tries to catch your attention, and continue on your way.

Melissa misses you by a minute- curse her bladder.

“She’s already left for the day,” Barbara says quietly from her desk. “Just missed her.”

Melissa knows Barbara is hurt just by the monotone voice, “Barb… I'm sorry. I should have listened to you the first time you told me to stop.”

Barbara only sighs and looks at the ceiling, “Well it seems it is a little too late now.”

The next morning, again, the redhead trying to get back into your good graces breaks and enters into your room. This time, she writes: You are in the right place, doing what you love. -Melissa.

And again, you crumble it up and throw it in the direction of your trash can. Once again, it lands in your drawer.

Your day continues on much like yesterday did, although this time you do have to venture into the staff lounge to heat up the leftovers you brought for lunch. Making sure you have your AirPods in, you exit your classroom as quickly as you can. You hope that you don’t run into the people that you are, at this point, actively avoiding.

Her red hair is the first thing you see, glasses sitting on top of her head. Your heart stops for a second, but you continue on.

You’re fairly certain that she’s speaking to you, unaware of the fact that your little earbuds are concealed under your hair. You wait for your food to warm, and then you exit without a word. You only give Barbara a solemn nod- a silent agreement that the two of you will meet to discuss a few things for the end of the year later.

Barbara enters your classroom and notices how you have already started to take down your personal effects. You are already starting to erase all that you have done. She bites her lip as she makes her way to the table you sit at in the back.

“Please Y/N, there has to be some way I can convince you to stay,” Babara asks with a hint of pleading in her voice. You know that your colleague never begs, never pleads. She wants you to stay desperately.

“Barb…you have to stop,” you say gently, a pit already forming in your stomach, “I'm not changing my mind. I have told you that multiple times. I have to do this.”

“You belong here,” the older woman continues. “That incident with Melissa will never happen again. Something happened that day and it…she wasn't herself.”

Your curiosity spikes and you try to remember what transpired before Melissa hadn't let go. She had come to talk about the book you bought her. When you went to walk away she tried to stop you. The motion had made you spin around and your hair to move before you could quickly pat it back into its place. That is when she had stopped her hand tightening around you. 

Your hand automatically moves to the tattoo hidden behind your ear. She saw my soulmate tattoo. 

You groan loudly. “She saw my tattoo, didn’t she?”

Barbara nods through a tight lip, and she hopes that you put the two and two together. But you don’t. Instead, you begin to cry.

“Nobody has ever seen my tattoo,” you whisper softly. “Now I’ll never find my soulmate.”

The kindergarten teacher doesn’t know what to say. She can’t tell you about Melissa’s revelation. You have to figure that out yourself.

You shake out your hands before wiping your tears from your cheeks. “Just when I think she has taken everything from me she finds one more- the biggest thing of all.”

Your mentor pulls you into a hug, and she gently smoothes over your hair. As much as you want to melt into her arms, like you have on more than one occasion, you have to pull away.

You take a second to compose yourself once again. “Whatever. It’s fine. I- Maybe the legend is wrong. I’ll- I’ll be fine, after I leave this place.”

Barbara doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want you to leave. She knows that the soulmate legend doesn’t apply to you- you just don't know that Melissa has the same tattoo. She knows that Melissa is your soulmate, and she knows that even if you do end up leaving Abbott, the two of you will find your way to each other again. But if you stay at Abbott, you’ll surely cause yourself less havoc.

“So, how are we going about kindergarten graduation?” you change the subject quickly. 

Barbara doesn't fight the change in topic. If this is the last couple of days she has with you she isn't going to waste it on things she can't control. 

When Melissa notices the notes have gone unnoticed, she changes tactics. She knows you hate making copies because by some trick of fate it always breaks when you need it without fail. So she takes it upon herself to make copies for you. Barbara tells her the lesson plans for the week and the red head sits at the printer for hours. She screams Italian curses, slams her hand against the shitty plastic, and throws paper around the office more than once. 

When the task is finally done she places it all on your desk with a note reading: So you don’t have to fight with the copier. -Mel and slips out seconds before you turn down the hall to enter. She watches tucked behind Barb’s door across the hall as you look at the papers. There is a look of confusion that passes your face for only a moment before you take the whole pile of paper and throw it in the recycling bin. You don’t need her doing your dirty work for you.

When Barbara comes into your room to continue on with planning for the last few weeks of school, she notices the papers thrown in the recycling bin.

“Did it not print correctly?” she asks with a brow raised.

“Tell your friend I don’t need her to waste her copier money on me,” you huff. Then, you take a deep breath and compose yourself. “I’m sorry, Barb. That wasn’t very kind of me.”

The kindergarten teacher clicks her tongue a few times. “Not a problem, dear. Just know that Melissa has more copier money saved than any of the rest of us in the building, and she doesn’t waste her prints for just anybody.”

“Well, according to her, I’m a nobody,” you sigh. “So I don’t need her charity work after she’s put me through the ringer for the last seven months... anyway, back to planning.”

Barbara lets her work wife know that her gestures are not being appreciated and that she shouldn’t waste her copier money or her sanity any longer.

“I don’t understand why she won’t even look at me,” Melissa grumbles. “I’ve done everything I can to make it up to her.”

“Forgive me,” the kindergarten teacher blows out a deep breath. “But you quite literally put her through hell this year... I don’t blame her for not wanting to forgive you as easily as you want her to.”

“I'm tryin’ my best here, Barb,” the red head mumbles.

Barbara  just raises her eyebrow at her best friend, “More like trying the bare minimum, Melissa. You didn't just hurt her feelings a little, you made her feel like nothing. She walks around thinking she is a nobody, and has walked around like that long before you came along to only further drill those thoughts into her head. That doesn't go away with silly notes and copies.”

Melissa groans, “Fuck, I know.”

Melissa tries a more personal approach this time. Maybe she can’t win you over with post-it notes or copies of work, but she knows you drink coffee like it is part of your bloodstream. She also knows that you often forget where you place your cup. When you finally remember, the coffee is cold and you drink it- even if you groan the whole time.

Melissa’s seen you sometimes with multiple cups throughout the day, and on certain mornings, she sees you with a disposable cup of coffee from a coffee shop not too far down the road.

“Barb, what’s that one coffee shop down the road that Y/N loves?”

The kindergarten teacher raises a brow but answers lowly, “Knockbox cafe.”

And so, the next morning, when you get into your classroom, a warm travel mug from Knockbox is sitting on your desk waiting for you. 

Attached to it is a post-it that is very clearly from Melissa’s desk; it has the Eagles logo on it. I love the way you espresso yourself. -Mel

You roll your eyes at the cheesiness of her pun, and you know for a fact that she googled it before scrawling it down. You don’t throw the cup out though. Instead, you let it sit on your desk with the sticky still attached to it.

By the time lunch time comes around, you’re tempted to drink the coffee the second grade teacher bought you, but that would mean that you’re acknowledging her and her peace offering. So you sigh and take the mug that you always keep in your cabinet and make your way down to the staff lounge.

You start brewing a pot of coffee silently before allowing your eyes to wander over to wear Barbara is sitting. You quietly raise your mug with the silent offer of pouring her another cup. She nods gratefully.

Once the coffee is finished, you pour yourself a mug, fix it to your liking, and then take the pot over to Barb.

Melissa’s eyes linger on you, and you can practically feel them burning a hole in your body.

“Need a second cup?” your grade-level partner asks. Melissa perks up just slightly, praying that you’ll say yes.

You shake your head. “First,” you sigh softly as you sip your liquid gold. “Thought I’d be able to do without today, but I guess I was wrong.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Melissa’s face drop.

Your heart hurts for just a second. You know she is trying- but none of it is enough. It’s a little too late and you are done accepting the bare minimum. 

Melissa has struck out three times now, and with the last couple of school days closing in on her, she knows time is running out. She has one final trick up her sleeve, but it consumes most of her days and nights. It is her hail mary and she knows that it has to be done. She wants to replicate the soulmate tattoo that she shares with you in a way that is handmade and clearly from the heart. 

The tattoo is black and white, a simple outline of a sea turtle, giving her the freedom for any color of yarn. She debates going traditional greens and browns, but she wants this to scream you. She pulls out a pastel yellow and a dark burgundy, smiling at the odd pairing. Your two favorite colors are on opposite sides of the spectrum, and yet it couldn't describe you better. Yellow... for the lighter parts of you- the smiles you give to your students, the laugh with a small snort at the end that fills the room, the reassurance you give your coworkers on a rough day. Burgundy... for the dark parts of you- the weight of the world you seem to carry on your shoulders, the flicker of doubt behind your eyes when you introduce something new to the kids, the sigh you release when you think no one is looking. But Melissa, she has noticed it all—the dark and the light. She sees the way that those two parts of you entangle together to create this beautiful, complex soul that you keep.

Her fingers are numb by the time she finishes crocheting it, her carpal tunnel is flaring up, and she considers finding the wrist brace that she still has around from the last particularly painful aching in her wrist.But it’s worth it. You’re worth it. The turtle is much larger than she expected it to be. It’s the size of her palm with a pastel yellow body and a burgundy shell. It turns out way cuter than she expected, and a smile spreads across her face. She attaches a note to the turtle: You're turtle-y awesome. Here is a teeny-tiny turtle that is always there whenever you need a little cheer. -Mel.

The next morning, she places it on your desk right in the center so you’ll see it as soon as you walk in. A part of Melissa wants to stay in your room if only to stop you from throwing this gift away. There is a part of her that will be crushed if you toss away all of her hard work. Okay, if she’s being honest, it will crush all of her. It takes everything to pull her away, but she walks across the hall back into the safe space of Barbara’s door. Barbara stands next to her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. There are no words spoken, but there doesn’t need to be. The only thing that matters is that Barbara is there for whatever is about to take place.

Melissa’s breath hitches as you finally enter your classroom, a coffee from Knockbox in your left hand as you hum the song that was on the radio softly. You stop at your desk, looking down at the turtle. A smile spreads across your face as you take the crochet trinket into your hands. Melissa squeezes Barb’s hand, an anxiety building in her throat as you lift it. She is positive that you are going to throw it away, but you only hold it to your chest. The redhead’s heart is soaring as she watches you hug the turtle. It lasts only for a second before you gently place it in your bag and then slide the bag underneath your desk. 

You know the turtle is from Melissa, the handwriting gave it away immediately, but you can’t throw this one away- not when turtles mean so much to you and the colors have been your favorite for years.

Melissa expects a thank you, an acknowledgement, anything. But you still ignore her. Anytime she is in the hallway, you walk away from her pretending not to hear her or even look in her direction. It is the same cold shoulder treatment, but it almost hurts even more because the turtle still sits in your bag. An acceptance and a denial all in one breath.

It’s later that day when you’re in your classroom on your own, your students away in music class, that Barbara walks into your room to finish up the final touches on the little buckets you’ll give to your students on the last day. She can’t help but notice that, while she knows there are small little turtle erasers for your students, there is also an unexpected addition. Poking out of each bucket, big brown eyes land on little slips of paper reading: You’re turtle-y awesome. Don’t forget that! Love, Miss Y/N.

She clocks it immediately. That’s the silly little pun that Melissa had attached to your own crochet turtle. It’s that small little detail that makes Barbara realize you saw the note from Melissa- you know it’s Melissa that gave you the crocheted turtle.

“That’s cute,” she comments quietly as she settles down by your desk.

You smile softly. “I saw the pun a little earlier today. Thought it was cute.”

“Where’d you see it?” Barbara pries. Maybe she can get you to admit that you know it’s from her work wife. “I’ve been trying to think of better puns for my kids’ buckets.”

Instead of giving her exactly what she wants to hear, you shrug. “I don’t really remember.” Your eyes don’t meet Barb’s as you say that though. No. Instead, your eyes turn warm as you glance down at the bag tucked under your desk, and you look at the little gift from Melissa poking out of your bag.

You don’t end up sitting with them at lunch the next day, again finding an excuse. You find excuse after excuse until finally, Barbara confronts you about it.

“Sweetheart, if this is about some weird aversion to food or eating in front of each other,” she starts. “Janine used to eat like she was in prison, and Gregory hates most foods. Nobody will question what you eat or the way you eat.”

“I-“ You’re not quite sure what to say if you’re being honest. The fact that your coworker has clearly been thinking about this and how she was going to confront you is so kind- so considerate.

“I also think it may help you adjust more properly if you come join us, at least until you find your groove. None of us will bite, I promise,” Barbara laughs at her own joke.

Melissa might, you think to yourself. But you know that you have nothing to refute without her thinking the worst now, so you begrudgingly agree.

You avoid conversation for the most part, until someone- Janine is her name- questions you about being single, dating casually, or have been lucky enough to find your soulmate. 

You stutter over your words for a minute, “I -uh I- no one.” You cringe as you realize your sentence made no sense so you start again, “I dated casually in college, but not anymore. No soulmate either…but maybe one day.”

Melissa makes a scoffing noise, and your cheeks turn an even brighter red. 

Janine doesn’t seem to notice as she rambles on, “Well, I am sure that you will find your soulmate soon. I did! Right at this school actually.”

She beams over at Gregory, who smiles softly, before he pulls up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his soulmate tattoo on his wrist. You smile immediately, “Dino DNA. I love it.”

“Of course you would understand nerd shit,” Melissa mumbles, rolling her eyes. 

You retreat further into yourself, trying to finish your food before you die of complete embarrassment. The conversations continue around you, but what you don’t realize is that Melissa is watching you. Studying the way that you always seem to push your hair behind your right ear when you are nervous.  Marveling in the way that your eyes twinkle when someone says something kind to you. She wants to hate you, she really does, but anytime that you are near, she can’t seem to pull her eyes from you. She doesn’t think anyone notices, definitely not you, but someone does. Barbara watches everything with practiced silence and a knowing smile.

Barbara Howard has been around for some time. She’s seen things, she’s heard things, she’s experienced things. She knows Melissa Schemmenti like the back of her hand. And this? Whatever Melissa is doing right now? It’s not her at all. If the kindergarten teacher didn’t know any better, she’d say there’s something akin to when she first met Gerald: her soulmate. But for now, the woman stays quiet. She decides that she’ll just quietly watch everything unfold in front of her unless it’s dire that she intervene. The two of you will figure it out eventually, even if that means you may need a little shove in the right direction.

You continue to have lunch with them everyday, but you mostly stay quiet unless directly spoken to. It’s easier this way. And even still, you catch the dry, almost humorless ‘jokes’, if you could call them that, that the redhead mutters under her breath. And because you stay so quiet, never speaking out of turn- always one to listen with a soft smile on your face from the outside tables, nobody knows a single thing about you or your teaching aside from Barbara. 

Or so you think. A certain second-grade teacher who dresses in leather and heeled Doc Martens knows you quite well from her observations alone. She notices that you wear your nicer clothes on Mondays- a way to start your week out on a positive note. She sees that you drink your coffee nearly identically to her. Your eyes sparkle when you’re working on something you love. You bite the left corner of your lip when you’re nervous, the right when you’re focused. And… she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you with your hair in any other style aside from it being down. Occasionally, you’ll put a curling iron to it, leaving you with sweet waves or curls- usually when you’re in a good mood. But other than that, it’s down and how it dries and lays naturally. 

Days turn into weeks, which turn into months. The end of the school year even begins to approach, and still you remain. Melissa watches you every day, waiting for the moment that you snap and leave. It never comes. She continues to expect it, but it never comes. You settle into a routine at Abbott that makes you blend in even with the most veteran teachers. You start to warm up to other teachers, but Barbara remains your favorite, your mentor, and a close friend- a fact that Melissa is still learning how to accept, even after hours of Barbara reminding her that no one can replace her work wife. It gets easier, and Melissa starts to feel her walls crumbling down; however, a little piece of her can’t let you in. A little voice in her head tells her that letting you in would mean a complete overhaul of her life. So she suppresses her feelings, pushing them down into that safe place she created- the one where she can ignore things that are messy and complicated. There’s something about you that screams messy and complicated despite the fact that you have almost seamlessly inserted yourself into every aspect of the walls of Abbott except her own.

While you are getting used to Abbott and the way that nothing ever seems to work and the district never wants to help, there are some days that it weighs heavily on you.

You sit down at the lunch table, Monday already hanging heavy on your shoulders. Barbara had warned you about how draining Kindergarten could get, but you didn't believe her until today. The day had started with a dream about a certain redhead. It had been sweet, soothing even, to dream of her curled up on your couch watching some silly old-timey film until she leaned in to kiss you, and you jolted awake way past when your alarm should have gone off. Then the kids had been…challenging to say the least. You should have been in your classroom cleaning up spilled glue, tidying pieces of paper that were across the floor, or even mentally preparing for your math lesson- but you need a break with a friendly face. You’re waiting for Barbara when the redhead storms in, throwing her container on the table. She scowls at you. “Great. Barb’s lost puppy waiting for Mommy to come and fix her day.”

You’ve had a shit day so far, and that comment was the last straw. You can’t hold it in anymore. “Did I do something to make you be such an asshole?” you hiss out at Melissa. Typically, you let her comments slide, but today, your patience was at zero. “Or are you this miserable every day?”

Melissa is known to be a little rough around the edges on certain days- most days, if you’re being honest. She has been caught taking her anger out on the teachers around her when her personal life was going to shit. She’s even punched the head off a cardboard ninja on a particularly bad day. Today is one of those days that you are sure is going to end up in a cosmic explosion. It had started with her boyfriend yet again wanting to have the “talk”: the one about how badly he wanted to marry her, even though they aren’t soulmates, and how she was never going to change her mind. She had been there and done that, and marrying Gary was the last thing she wanted. She liked their life, perhaps even loved him. But she was not ready to go down that road again, of settling, only to end up hurt in the end. There was a little piece of her that said if she was going to risk it all, it was only going to be for one person-her soulmate. When he hadn’t relented, she had gone on a rampage as soon as she hung up the phone and never stopped.

She goes to say something smart to you, but instead, a soft, “I’m sorry, Y/N” slips through her lips.

Your eyes blow wide and you physically move back in your chair, “I don’t know what scares me more: the fact that you apologized or that you said my name- like my actual name.”

“Don’ get used to it,” Melissa grits out, and you only shake your head.

“Yeah... I don’t need this today,” you huff, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door, “I’m just going to eat in my room. Take your anger management issues out on another lost puppy.”

Melissa watches you go with a little twist in her gut. She waits for Barbara, but she never comes, and when she wanders down the hall at the end of the lunch period, the redhead finds her work wife at her desk, eating. You sit across the table from her with a stack of papers on your lap. You grade with a red pen in one hand and your sandwich in the other. There’s an ease to your movement that makes her heart melt, but it becomes overclouded with anger. 

“Barb,” she growls.

Barbara looks up at her with a stern expression, “I am not your punching bag today, Melissa. And I will not let you use Y/N as your punching bag either. Go yell at Gary, not us. I have work to do, and so does Y/N.”

A rush of guilt runs through the second grade teacher, but she still notices the way you gulp. She notices the way that your face saddens just the slightest at the mention of the redhead’s boyfriend. To your credit, you look like you are about to defend her, but you smother back a response. You only look at her for a second before turning back to your papers.

She grumbles out, “Youse teach kindergarten. What could you possibly have to grade this early on in the school year?” And yet... she’s never felt the urge to want to help Barbara grade her students’ handwriting or knowledge of letters, but she does for you. She does not give in to that pressure.

Barbara has dealt with many years of Melissa’s short temper and sarcastic comments, but today of all days, she wants nothing to do with it. For weeks, she has watched her work wife practically stalk your every movement, learn your daily routines so she could catch you in the hallways just to see your daily outfit, and stop just outside your door to watch you teach. She never speaks to you unless it’s some sort of snarky comment, and yet... your counterpart can tell that the redhead wants nothing more than to be in your presence, even if it isn’t wanted or appreciated by you at this point.  She knows Melissa has feelings for you, and she was sick of her best friend taking it out on you, of watching the way that you bite back tears when a particular comment hits deep. 

She stands from her desk, walking over to the door, “I told you to get out, Melissa. When you fix your attitude, maybe we can talk.”

  She closes the door in Melissa’s face- not quite a slam, but a shutting of the door with purpose, and there is a resounding lock sound. Melissa is hurt, she is upset, but mostly she is angry that Barbara is right. Why does Barbara always have to be right? 

Ever since that day, the fiery second grade teacher has done her best to control her temper. Well... she tries, and Barbara can see that she is making an effort. The snide comments slow down, and every once in a while, she even smiles at you when you enter the room. It’s always when you’re talking to someone else, but Barbara considers it progress. It is progress. Melissa even catches herself from biting your head off when you run into each other trying to enter the teacher’s lounge. 

“Shit, Melissa, I am so sorry,” You sputter, reaching down to grab her fallen items. That’s when you pick up a torn copy of her brand-new “Peter Rabbit” books.

“It ain’t your fault, Y/N. I should have been paying more attention,” She sighs, running a hand through her hair, “I am a little distracted.”

You hold the book out to her, “What happened? I thought you just bought these.” Normally, you wouldn’t have paid attention to the fact that this copy of her beloved book was brand new, but she had loudly come into the staff room yesterday to announce that she had finally scraped up enough money to purchase a new set.

“Yup,” Melissa grumbles out through gritted teeth. “And my little Eagles decided to make confetti with this one when I had my back turned.”

“That stinks, Mel,” You say, and her heart stalls at the nickname, “I know how much it meant to you to have new ones.”

That nickname rolls off the tongue. You don’t even mean for it to, but it does. You can practically hear the hitch in her breath, and your heart begins to race at the thought of her tearing you to shreds, much like her students had her book, because of an innocent slip-up.

The redhead shrugs off the rush of emotions. “It was bound to happen. Now can you move so I can eat?”

You inhale deeply before nodding, somewhat disheartened by her gruff question. You’ve gotten used to it, but since she’s stopped being as harsh to you (at least directly), you were hoping you were making progress. It feels like you’ve taken one step forward and three steps back. If you’re being honest, it always feels that way with her. But still, you step out of her way with a tight lip.

Lunch is quiet after that, and then you’re off to teach your little cherubs for the rest of the day.

The bell rings to indicate that teacher hours are over, and you blink a few times before heading out of your classroom for the night.

“Have a good night, Barb,” you call across the hall gently.

The veteran teacher waves to you with a smile as she too packs up her things for the night.

Because you have nothing to do tonight- you’re all caught up on your work- you silently wonder what you should do. Maybe you should curl up on the couch with a good book and a glass of wine. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. But then, you remember that you’re also all caught up on your books. You could go to the library and borrow a “gently used” read, but you’ve had a list of novels that you’ve wanted to read for a while now. A trip to Barnes and Noble sounds like a good plan.

You’re perusing the various shelves of books when something catches your ear. A small child’s giggle- one that is so easily identifiable as one of your students- in the next aisle over. After a quick hello to your pupil, you find yourself alone in the children’s section. 

And then your eyes land on one book in particular: The Tale of Peter Rabbit. You don’t know what comes over you, but you reach for it. Your book is already tucked underneath your arm, and you do a quick calculation to make sure that you have enough. You barely do, but you need to get this book. You check out and slip it into your teacher bag for the next day so you won’t forget. 

The next morning, you get there earlier than you usually do to ensure that Melissa won’t be there. She always leaves her classroom unlocked, so you slip in and make your way to her desk. You have never been in here before- too afraid that she would literally rip your head off if you even stepped inside. You take in the clutter on her desk and the way it seems to be organized chaos. You smile at the picture of her and Barbara from when they first started teaching. You could see a million inside jokes that were already passing between them. You take notice of the other small trinkets on her desk, but one thing catches your eye: a little turtle figurine with the words ‘You are loved’ underneath it. 

You scanned the desk again before grabbing a green sticky note with the Eagles logo on the bottom. You place it on the book before writing in your loopy, yet still reminiscent of a teacher's handwriting: Maybe don’t let your kids turn this copy into confetti, Schemmenti.

You don’t sign it. She doesn’t need to know it’s from you, and you doubt she’d even consider that you would go out of your way to be kind to her, what with the history that the two of you have. 

Before anyone else can make their way into the building, much less the halls to the classrooms (you’ve noticed that almost everybody’s first stop in the morning is the teachers lounge), you slip back out of the room and into yours. You’re in the middle of preparing for your first lesson of the day when Melissa gets into her classroom. She got caught talking with Barbara in the teacher’s lounge and only has enough time to put her bag down before the kids begin rushing in. Her bag lands right on top of the book without her noticing. By the time she moves her bag to sit down for a moment, the sticky note attaches to the bottom. The sudden movement causes it to drift right underneath Melissa’s chair and out of sight. 

She picks the book up in her hand and smiles. Melissa was eventually going to replace the book when her anger had lessened, but this was a pleasant surprise. At lunch, she rushes down to the teacher’s lounge and sits at the table. Barbara is already in her spot, but you are absent. She notices- because she notices everything about you- but she turns to Barbara, too excited to thank her.

“Barb, thank you for my new book,” the redhead smiles as she places a gentle hand over her work wife’s.

“What book?” Barbara asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Peter Rabbit... You put it on my desk this morning,” Melissa falters. “You were the one who put it on my desk, right?”

“Sorry girlfriend, that wasn’t me,” Barb shrugs but there is a moment when the puzzle pieces start to come together. “Maybe Y/N gave it to you.”

“Yeah... right,” Melissa rolls her eyes and then turns to Janine. “Hey pipsqueak, did you buy me a new copy of Peter Rabbit?”

“Not me. My card declined trying to buy a donut hole today,” Janine says with an embarrassed sigh.

“As much as I would love to support a fellow teacher, I too... am broke,” Jacob cuts in. That clears him of the crime.

Green eyes look to Gregory.

“As Barb’s daughter once said, I am a ‘broke boi’.” Gregory admits, putting his hands up before Melissa can snap at him.

“And I am still so sorry that Taylor said that,” the kindergarten teacher tells him sheepishly.

“Mr. J?”

“Melissa, when are you going to realize that this relationship between you and me is one sided?” the custodian laughs.

Ava cackles before putting in, “I ain’t out here doin’ charity work. I already work hard enough for y’all to barely succeed as is.”

And then Jacob speaks up again. “And we all know that Morton is a scum who only looks out for himself.”

Melissa sits back in her chair, mulling over Barbara’s words. There are a few teachers that she knows left in the school, let alone talks to. Could it have been you? She can’t see how it’s possible, and she can’t ask you when you remain absent for the rest of the lunch period. When she returns to her classroom, she’s flustered and... more than a little annoyed. That is when the green note catches her eye, just barely showing underneath her chair. Honestly, if it didn’t have the Eagles logo, she probably wouldn’t have found it and Mr. Johnson would’ve swept it away with today’s trash. She leans down to grab it and groans -not at the words but at the fact that Barb is always fucking right - the handwriting is yours. She knows everyone’s handwriting in the school but has always paid special attention to yours - marveling in the way that you never seem to dot your i’s, how the bottom of your t’s always loop- there is no mistaking it for anyone else's. You had given her the book. Why would you give her the book- much less not take credit for doing her a favor? 

Melissa catches you off guard as you’re packing up for the day. The copy of Peter Rabbit with your note on the cover is tucked underneath her arm. She holds it out to you. “You hate me, kid. Why’d you get this for me?”

You look at the book then back up at her, “First of all, I don’t appreciate that you constantly call me ‘kid’. I am not a child, and I should not have to ask you not to call me that. Secondly, I don’t hate you, Melissa. I never have. But I am fairly certain that you hate me. I just... for the life of me, I don’t understand why. What did I do to make you automatically treat me like I'm…nothing?”

“You aren't nothing,” Melissa says automatically, and you pause for a second. “You are an amazing teacher. You love your kids more than I think you love yourself sometimes. You bend over backwards getting them and Barb’s kids everything, and then some. I know you have to be working multiple jobs with the way you seem to scrape money together. You always know how to calm a kid down. You know how to soothe Dontae before he has a meltdown, even though he can't talk. You go above and beyond every day. That ain't nothing.”

Tears well in your eyes at her words - she notices you, watches you, pays attention to you- and you don’t know how long you have been waiting for someone to show you that attention. Barbara shows you that attention to a certain degree, but... 

Yet coming from her, when matched with all the snide comments, sly jokes, and blunt disrespect, you aren't sure what to do. You blink away your tears.

“Then start treating me like I mean something,” You bite out, grabbing your bag and brushing past her. “Or just say thank you for the book, and then don’t bother talking to me again. I honestly don’t care at this point.”

“Wait Y/N,” Mel calls out, reaching out for your hand.

She makes contact, not with your hand, but with your forearm, and the whole world stops. It’s like the first day of professional development all over again. Time slows around you, and all the noise from the struggling air conditioner disappears. You get tunnel vision, and all you can focus on is Melissa. You notice the hitch in her breath and the way that her hand tightens around your arm. Her eyes linger on where her body meets yours. There’s that feeling in the base of your spine again, but it spreads now until your whole body is practically vibrating with it. It terrifies you.

And then, you force yourself out of your trance. You turn quickly on your heel, desperate to get out of the situation that you’ve unwillingly found yourself in.

When you turn though, that one little secret of yours... your soulmate tattoo stealthily hidden behind usually patted down hair becomes exposed.

The redhead is jarred by your sudden movement. The way that you jerk her body at your turn startles her, and her eyes land on your tattoo, even just for that split second that it’s visible. The world stops, as if someone had taken a picture of this moment, and it’s there for eternity. It feels like an eternity for Melissa.

She knows that tattoo. Why does she know that tattoo? Because she has a matching one on her hipbone.

Soulmates. Something that supposedly everyone had from birth. Something that, when you found your soulmate roaming through this world, you felt like you were home. Something that you were assigned when born by whatever higher being there is.

Some people find their soulmates early in life. Some find theirs later in life. And some? Well, they never find their soulmate.

The way to truly tell who your soulmate is? A tattoo that you get at eighteen. When you walk into a shop on your eighteenth birthday, something inside of you tells you what you’re supposed to get. It becomes something that you are reminded of every single day- no matter how hard you try to forget. And only you and the tattoo artist are aware of what you get- nobody else finds out what your tattoo is until you find your person. And then you can shout it from the rooftops. Legend says that if you prematurely state what your tattoo is, you won’t ever find your soulmate. So, you have to be almost one-hundred percent sure that whoever you reveal your tattoo to is indeed your soulmate.

However, that has never been Melissa Schemmenti’s style. A woman of many secrets has never told a soul what tattoo she’s gotten. She’s always wanted to keep her private life private for many reasons. She knows that letting people in meant letting them hurt you. She also thinks it was absolute bullshit that the world was going to force the person she was going to be with. She was Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti, and no one was going to tell her what to do- which is why she is the only person to know what her soulmate tattoo is- she forced the tattoo artist out of the room and did it herself. She had given herself enough tattoos as a teen to know how to do it; now she just had the proper tools to do it professionally, somewhere far away from prying eyes.

She thought soulmates were bullshit, especially after months, years, and decades of searching. And so, she’s settled for a man who also hasn’t found his soulmate. And it’s... it’s working out. They cover their soulmate tattoos whenever they decide to become intimate, and it’s fine. They’re content. The life they’ve created together is about as good as Melissa thinks she’ll get- as good as she thinks she deserves. 

You? You’re about a decade and a half younger than your soulmate- not that you know it yet. So, while you wander the streets of Philadelphia, looking for someone around your age that may potentially be your soulmate, you come up empty. Your hope hasn’t dwindled even after multiple failed attempts. You know one day you will find your soulmate and live the life you had always wanted. 

There’s a part of you that wonders if you should expand your search. But the city of brotherly love has your heart, and so you stay to teach in the city that has your heart. Somehow, you end up at Abbott Elementary, in the heart of West Philadelphia.

The first day of professional development catches you by surprise, and the start of the day is a damn disaster. You had spent the night before talking to your friends over FaceTime for way too long and swore you had set your alarm. However, when you wake up from a nightmare- a stress-induced nightmare about how this school year may go- and glance at the clock, you only have ten minutes to get ready. You sigh, throwing your head back against the pillow, letting out a large groan. Finally pulling yourself out of bed, you scramble to get clothes on and look at least halfway presentable. 

Which is how you end up in the parking lot of Abbott Elementary, dressed in your favorite cardigan over a pair of dark jeans and a simple blue shirt - go-to comfort clothes that always help ease your nerves. You stare at the school, pushing down your doubts and fears as much as you can. 

“I can do this. I am a great teacher. The kids aren’t even here today. I don’t know why I’m freaking out,” You mutter out loud.

“Oh darling, you are going to be fine,” A voice called out, and you jump. A small laugh escapes the older woman’s lips, “I am Barbara Howard. Kindergarten teacher.”

You smile, a small blush on your cheeks, “I’ve heard great things about you from Principal Coleman," you compliment quietly.

“A word from the wise: don’t believe everything Ava says.” The woman in front of you hits you with a look that almost makes you second-guess every decision that you've made to begin your journey here.

You’re not quite sure what you’re supposed to say to that. Are you to question her teaching? Are you-

“Of course, she would be correct in saying that I am a wonderful teacher,” Barbara laughs that loud laugh that you soon realize is her norm. “I assume you at least know where your classroom is?”

You nod, lips formed into a tight line. “I came in last week to begin setting up, but if I’m being completely honest with you? Kindergarten is not the grade I’m used to.”

“And what grade would that be?”

You hold up three fingers in response.

“Well, then... let’s take a look at what you have set up, and I can help you with things that may not work quite as well for the younger kids before we have to sit through another blasphemous professional development session .”

The veteran teacher begins to lead the way, and you follow her as though you’re a lost puppy. However, this means that you miss one important thing at the other end of the parking lot: a redheaded teacher clearly infuriated that Barbara Howard has gone into the building without her. The other veteran teacher mutters Italian curses underneath her breath as she begrudgingly follows behind the pair in front of her.

You slide your key into the lock for your classroom door, pushing it open and stepping aside to let Barbara in. Your gaze immediately falls to the floor as she steps inside, taking in her surroundings. Seconds trickle into minutes before she speaks. 

“You didn’t do a bad job,” She reassures you, “There are some things that need to be taken down, but I have extra posters to replace them.” Her finger points towards the reading corner where a large number of stuffed animals are hidden amongst the books, “They are going to love that- just be ready to Lysol them consistently.”

You smile at her praise, “I started collecting them after last school year. I want to encourage a safe place where reading won’t be so scary because they have a furry friend with them. I have always struggled to read and…”

Suddenly, another voice cuts through the room, “Oh great. A woman who is supposed to be teaching our youth how to read struggles with reading. Let me guess, you struggle with writing too?”

You don’t know it, but the low voice that practically growls at you belongs to someone who has been diagnosed with Dyslexia. Her comment cuts you straight to the core. You had determined that this year was going to be the year that you were honest about your struggles. Here it was, your first day, and you were already handling bullying. 

“Melissa,” Barbara snips, a knowing look in her eye, “This is Y/N, the new Kindergarten teacher. Y/N, this is Ms. Schemmenti, one of the finest teachers here at Abbott Elementary.”

Principal Coleman had told you about her too. The redhead who didn’t trust anyone, especially those new to Abbott, but had a heart of shining gold for her little Eagles and the ones she cared about. However, when you look at her now, all you feel is anger. There is a boiling underneath your skin that forces you to clench your fist. 

Melissa rolls her eyes at you, “Look kid, I’ll learn your name if you can last the school year and if you learn how to read.”

“I know how to read,” You grit out, a red tint of anger coming to your cheeks.

“We’ll see about that,” Melissa scoffs and then looks to Barbara, “Come on, Barb. I want my morning coffee before we start these fucking meetings.”

She turns on her heels and leaves, and you can feel a knot in your throat forming. Barbara steps closer to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, “I think the idea is amazing Y/N. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

She walks away from the door, closing it gently behind her as if she knows you need a minute to collect yourself. Walking over to the nearest desk, you grab the container full of pencils and throw it across the room. Pencils fly everywhere, and you want to scream, but instead you bite your tongue. 

Once you are calm, you move around the room picking up the pencils and placing them back in their container. You spend the rest of the time before the meeting with your door shut as you rearrange your room for the hundredth time.

Melissa, who had the intention of walking into the classroom with a glare, caught sight of you immediately. And while she was already in the middle of her snarky comment, her breath nearly caught in her throat at the sight of you. Still, she forces herself to be the rough and tough teacher that she’s been known to be.

She’s just barely gotten a hold of herself when your grade-level partner catches up to her.

“Melissa,” Barb tuts, “That comment was a little uncalled for.”

The redhead merely shrugs. “She’s just another newbie who will run for the hills when she sees what she's walking into.”

The woman of God bites her lip. “I don’t know... this one seems to show more potential than the others.”

“Tell me that when she hasn’t run within the first two months of school,” Melissa scoffs as the two of them waltz into the library together.

You walk into the library approximately two minutes before the scheduled time for the meeting (you are entirely unaware that the meeting times are merely suggestions for the principal at this point), frantically searching for a place to sit. Fortunately for you, Barbara beckons you over to sit with her, and by default: Ms. Schemmenti and the rest of the group. A bit out of breath, you rush for the seat next to your counterpart, and when you finally settle in, your eyes glance up and land on Melissa herself. 

She isn’t looking at you; she seems to be refusing to look at you. Her eyes stay on her phone, scrolling through whatever mindless social media app she chose for the meeting. You take a moment to study her, and there is a flutter of something. So small you almost didn’t notice it traveling up your spine. But it’s there- it’s a different feeling than you’ve ever felt before.

“What’re you starin’ at, kid?” Melissa retorts, and then her eyes finally lock onto yours. 

The whole world narrows to a point, and the rest of the room seems to slide away. The only thing you notice is the way that Melissa’s breath hitches for a moment. How her pupils grow in her green eyes, and she struggles to pull them away. You go to say something - anything at all but she is the first to speak. 

“Take a fuckin’ picture, it’ll last longer,” she sneers, “Barb, get your lost puppy away from me.”

You feel another pang in your gut as you tear your eyes away from the redhead and look towards the front, “Is this meeting ever going to start? I need to get the hell out of here.”

As if on cue, the principal of the school, who you now more or less don’t know what to expect from, waltzes in.

“Abbott Elementarians!” she shouts with gusto, hands up in the air for extra emphasis. Then she sighs, and her bravado breaks. “I wish we weren’t all here, but... my TikTok account isn’t enough to support me yet, so... here we are.”

You glance around the room, and you can see that nearly everyone is on their phones- all except the teacher next to Melissa, who seems to be eagerly awaiting Ava to say something with any meaning. 

You sigh and mutter under your breath, “This is my literal hell.” You don’t expect anybody to hear it, much less want anyone to hear the small, snarky comment you make. You don’t want anyone’s perception of you to be tarnished before you can show off your abilities in teaching.

However, you know someone hears you. It is a small sound that escapes so quickly you almost don’t hear it, but you’re positive Melissa chuckled. Her lips are quirked up, you can see the smile lines gracing her eyes... those gorgeous, green eyes... in amusement. She half glances at you, but upon seeing that you’re already looking at her, she shifts her attention back to her phone.

Nothing of importance is said at this meeting, and you almost wish you would’ve just stayed back in your classroom to continue setting up and becoming more familiar with the curriculum and your class roster. It’s not like anybody besides Barbara would’ve noticed your absence anyway- Ava never introduced you to the rest of the staff as it was.

You sigh as you stand from your chair, stretch just the slightest bit, and set off towards your classroom.

What you don’t know is that for whatever reason, that fiery second grade teacher watches as you go.

“Alright, Barb,” Melissa grumbles. “Your room, or mine?”

The kindergarten teacher hums lowly. “I was actually going to join Y/N in her room to see if she needs any assistance, if you’d care to join. All I ask is that you keep your more... sarcastic comments to yourself.”

“You know I can’t turn that off.”

“Well, seeing as you’ve already insulted her more than you perhaps intended, it may be best if I just go by myself then,” Barbara states. “But I will be seeing you for lunch, as we always do.” And then, she walks away from her work wife and down towards your classroom.

Melissa feels a burning jealousy just under her skin. How dare you come into this school, already have a good majority of your classroom set up (and it looks wonderful, aside from the few posters Barb already told you she’d help replace), and steal her best friend away from her. For as much as there’s something drawing her to you, making her want to get to know you- maybe it’s the way your eyes are so expressive, or how you can make a quiet comment that nobody would expect a newbie to make before paying full attention to the pointless meeting- Melissa decides then and there that she’ll treat you just like any other new hire: like you’ll be running out of there with mascara streaming down your face within the first three days.

You are staring at the walls of your room, sitting on the edge of your desk, when Barb walks in. You don’t notice her presence, only stare forward like you are lost, eyes clouded.

“Y/N, sweetheart, are you there?” The older woman asks gently.

You shake your head, looking at her with a plastered-on smile, “Yeah, just taking it all in. That meeting was…something.”

“Ava’s meetings always are,” Barbara says with a small sigh. “You get used to it. Think of it as one of the many perks of working at Abbott.”

“You mean I get a principal who has no idea what she is doing, a constant weird smell, and zero funding? Sounds like a dream,” You grumble out sarcastically and then immediately cover your mouth, “That was supposed to stay inside my brain.”

Barbara only lets out a loud laugh, “Oh, you have a Melissa sense of humor. We are going to get along great.”

You smile, but a pit forms in your stomach at the mention of the redhead’s name. The feeling in your spine starts again. Low, thrumming, impossible to ignore, but you shove it aside, believing it to be anger.

“So, any pointers for this first year of kinder for me?” you ask, changing the subject rather quickly.

Both you and your colleague get lost in your planning and advice to the point that you nearly miss lunch. In fact, the only reason you’re aware of the time is because Melissa herself appears in your doorway looking pissed beyond belief.

You don’t realize it, because you had been so focused on preparing as much as possible, but the redhead had been standing in the entryway to your classroom for a solid three minutes just… taking in your beauty. There is something about you- it’s like there’s a light shining inside of you. But then she shakes her head to snap herself out of her trance. She’s determined to hate you.

“Barb, lunch,” is all the woman practically barks out before walking out of the doorframe.

Your grade level partner bites her bottom lip and worries it through her teeth for a few seconds, as if she’s in deep thought.

“You’re more than welcome to come join us,” Barbara offers warmly, that calm and gentle smile appearing on her face.

You wave her off gently. “I think I’ll just eat lunch here for today- settle in more.” When you see your mentor’s face fall just slightly, you quickly add on, “Maybe tomorrow though? If it’s not too much of a hassle.”

She nods, pats your shoulder gently, and heads out. heads out the door with her work wife. When they are outside the teacher’s lounge Melissa turns on her.

“I can’t believe you invited her to sit with us,” Melissa scoffs, crossing her arms, “If you want to replace me, just say it Barb.”

Barbara rolls her eyes, “Now Melissa, we have been friends for how many years? Don’t start with the ‘you are replacing me’ stuff. I didn't say that when you and Janine got close.”

Melissa falters staring at her best friend, “This is different.”

“How? She is my grade partner just like Janine was. She is new just like Janine was,” Barbara counters, “If you give her a chance, I think you will figure out you two are more alike than you think.”

Melissa rolls her eyes, “You know all of this after one morning with her? Maybe you are goin’ delusional Barb.”

She says the last part with a little tease in her voice. Her work wife shakes her head but smiles, “Of course I am, I hang out with you every day.”

Melissa Schemmenti has always been… a little rough around the edges. She’s fully willing to admit that too. There’s no doubt about it. She’s been charged for throwing corn cobs at Ben Simmons’s head, brought into the principal’s office more times than she’s willing to admit, threatened grandparents- she’s done just about everything in the book. It’s honestly a mystery how she’s still legally able to work as a teacher. It’s something the two of you joke about often.

The other thing that the two of you joke about? How easily you can get your- at times- hotheaded wife to calm down. And you’ve had to do that… a lot. Sometimes it’s over big things, sometimes it’s over little things. Sometimes? Sometimes it’s over nothing at all. 

You? You’re what some would say is the complete opposite of your wife. Calm, cool, collected- never one to raise your voice in a cacophonous way. You’re the blanket that calms Melissa down. The little bit of sunshine that peeks out when it’s cloudy or raining. The light in the darkness. It was always easy for you to bring her out of her fits of rage- even just enough for her to stop slamming her hands against whatever flat surface was close enough, or for her to unclench her fists so that she didn’t aggravate her carpal tunnel.

-

Family dinner happens every Sunday without fail. Sure, it rotates who hosted from time to time, but it always happens. Every Sunday at five, the Schemmentis file into one house, and around nine, they all file out with their bellies full of wine, cheese, pasta, and desserts.

This week, it just so happens that you and your wife end up hosting. And it’s- it’s tense. This is the first time Melissa has been ‘graced’ with the honor of holding family dinner in years. The two of you have been together for years, but this is the first year you’ve been married. Still, there’s hesitation because the redhead isn’t married to a man, so can she still cook as well as she had when she was with Joe?

“Honey,” you whisper as you slide in next to her at the counter. “It’s all going to be okay. This looks amazing, and I know for a fact it tastes just as delicious.”

“I just-” You cut her off with a gentle kiss, and you can practically feel at least a fraction of the stress melt away. But as you pull away, you can see the way that her shoulders tense and she stands with the stress settling once again.

After seeing the way that she was acting during the preparation, before anyone even got there, you knew this dinner was going to be interesting. And it would surely end with her in your arms at the end of the night. Hopefully, no tears would be involved.

But still, while your wife is dancing around the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the first course and ensuring that there were more than enough wine glasses and bottles of wine to go around, you open the door with a smile.

“Theresa,” you smile softly.

“Y/N,” she greets you with a warm hug despite the fact that you know she isn’t all that thrilled her daughter decided to settle down with another woman.

“Kristen Marie,” you say cordially.

She responds with a head nod before poking her head in a bit further. “Where’ my idiota of a sister?”

“Just putting finishing touches on some of the food,” you sigh as you close the door behind you. 

“Should’ve known she wouldn’t have it finished on time,” the blonde grumbles as she makes her way into the kitchen.

“Oh shut it, you gavone,” your wife grits out. “Don’t be a-”

“Girls, I didn’t come here for the two of you to fight,” Theresa cuts in as she leans in to kiss her daughter’s cheek. “Thank you for having us, Melly.”

“Yeah, Ma,” Melissa just barely manages a smile. “It’s my pleasure.”

Dinner is delicious, as it always is when you dine with the Italian family. And it seems like the two of you may escape the scrutiny that the Schemmentis are famous for.

“Oh, Y/N,” Theresa starts. “Dinner was absolutely lovely. Thank you for cooking.”

You furrow your brows. “I- I didn’t. It was all Lis.”

“Surely, you helped though,” the matriarch of the family suggests.

“Ma,” Melissa starts, but you set a gentle hand on her thigh, and she simmers down.

“I helped with the grocery shopping, but that was about it,” you smile. “Tonight’s dinner was all thanks to my beautiful wife.” You kiss her cheek for extra measure.

“It was alright,” Theresa then shrugs. “Kristen Marie could’ve done better.”

“Yeah, I could’ve,” the blonde laughs. “Me and Dommy.”

“You just told Y/N it was lovely,” Melissa sighs as she rubs at her temples. “Why was it only alright now that it was me.”

The mother clicks her tongue. “Because, Melissa dear, I expect much more from you than I do Y/N.”

You noticeably shrink in your seat, not quite happy to hear that the expectations set on your wife are so much higher than they should be.

“For real, Mel,” Kristen Marie continues. “If this is what you could do yourself, even when you have a wife, imagine what you could do if you had a husband. You used to have one, and you let him go.”

That- that stings. That one hits you right in the gut. And you know that everything in you wants to defend yourself and your wife, but you can practically feel and see the heat radiating from your wife. She’s about to blow, and you know that you have to keep your cool in order to keep this family in tact. The only thing that you have to do right now is de-escalate the redhead next to you.

Your wife goes to fight. She absolutely goes to charge across the table to get a good grip on her sister’s hair, but you stop her before she can jump. An arm wrapped around her shoulder, keeping her both physically and mentally at least somewhat grounded, you plaster a smile on your face.

“Well, I think that Lis is quite happy with the life we’ve created,” you tell the family. “And I am quite happy to be of any help that she wants or needs, but she’s quite capable of it all herself, and I find that I tend to get in the-”

The chimes of the grandfather clock in the living room begin, signaling that nine o’clock is upon you. You silently thank God- you know they’ll be leaving quickly.

“-I tend to just get in the way,” you finish.

You’re met with judgmental looks before Theresa sighs. “I suppose we should head out for the night.”

Goodbyes are quick and tense, and as soon as the last of the family members head out, your wife practically slams the door and meets your eyes with fury in her own.

“What?” you furrow your brows in confusion. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why didn’t you let me beat the shit out of Kristen Marie?”

You shrug. “It wasn’t worth it.”

“I don’t- I don’t know how you’re so calm about all of this! They insulted you- brought up Joe- and that is not-”

You take in her body language. Her eyes are dark. Her fists are clenched. Her shoulders and tense, and you can practically see the veins in her neck bulging out with rage. So instead of arguing with her and explaining now why they just aren’t worth fighting with, you sigh softly. A smile dances on your lips, as much as smiling is the last thing you want to do. You take her hands gently, focusing on making her relax her hands, and wrap your arms around her. You kiss her sweetly.

“You’re so pretty when you’re riled up and trying to protect me.”

And just like that, she melts. 

—

It is no a secret in the slightest that Melissa is potentially the most feared teacher in the school. Aside from her wardrobe that exudes confidence, her attitude, the way she presents herself, and the loud heeled boots that she wears almost everyday support the idea that she is not the teacher you want to mess with.

With all of that being said though, Mrs. Schemmenti’s second grade students know that their fiery redheaded teacher is full of love and support. She’s the first one to go to bat for her students, both past and present.

The staff also knows that your little group of friends are the few that Melissa would kill for in the building. So no one dares to say a word against any of you, but especially you- the other Mrs. Schemmenti. Not that anybody would; you’re known for coming in with an attitude close to Janine’s, although you’re a bit more subdued about it.

Unfortunately, even with the reputation that the woman has, there are still some people who maybe unintentionally push her buttons. And for as experienced and as ‘settled in’ as the woman is, she still finds herself in moments of frustration and weakness at work. They are few and far between, and even then, you’re somehow always there to calm the storm that’s brewing.

Today seems to be the day from hell for the woman. It starts with one of Ava’s jokes that just doesn’t seem to land in the way that she wants. Even the principal takes notice of her misspoken words and makes herself scarce before your wife can even turn to glare at her.

And then the children are… less than desirable today. Between the way that Lydia thought that maybe her glue stick would work like chapstick and they boys fighting much more aggressively than they usually do, your wife is exhausted by the time she gets to the staff room for lunch.

Only once she’s settled down next to you does she remember that she absolutely has to get grades in by the end of the day today. And that realization is the last straw for the redhead. She slams her fist down on the table, startling everybody in the room, before she begins cursing loudly in Italian. Sometimes, it’s best that she just get it out of her system, but you know you simply have to intervene when she goes to pick up her salad- no doubt to throw it in frustration.

“Lis,” you say, voice smooth as honey. Your fingers delicately wrap around her wrist to stop her. And then you begin to speak in Sicilian, having understood what she was so frustrated about. “Lassami aiutari. Va beni.” Let me help. It is going to be okay.

“Chistu è nu sciarriu. Nun lu pozzu fari,” your wife replies, clearly frustrated with herself as she puts her head in the one hand that you aren’t holding. This is a mess. I can't do it.

“Lè, si pò. Rimani ccà, e arricuogghiti tu stissu. Ti pozzu aiutari.” Yes, you can. Stay here, and collect yourself. I can help you.

“Comu mi po' aiutari?” Those beautiful green eyes that you swear you could get lost in look at you, clearly confused.

“Fidati di mia.” Trust me. 

And with that, you head down to your wife’s classroom and you gather the last spelling tests that you know she has yet to grade, along with her computer and her grade book. You pluck the coffee mug off of her desk with a soft smile as you see that she’s using one of the mugs you had gifted her years ago. 

You step back into the staff lounge with a soft smile. Your wife is still in a rage; her mumbling in Sicilian is a telltale sign.

You hand her the spelling tests, but you don’t hand over anything else. You just make your way over to the coffee pot, prepare the coffee as you know she prefers, and settle back into your seat with a kiss to her cheek. Without any other words said, you begin to seamlessly go back and forth between eating lunch and putting final grades in.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you see the smallest smile on the redhead’s face as her shoulders start to relax. Thank God you dodged an angry Melissa at home.

—

Cleaning on Sundays before heading out to wherever Schemmenti family dinner is being held this week is the norm. And if it’s football season, you clean in the morning, and then head over to Theresa’s to watch the football game and have dinner with the entire family.

And everything was seemingly going to plan. Until…

“Motherfucker!” Melissa swears from the living room. “Porca puttana!” For fuck’s sake.

At the language switch, you pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale deeply before going to see what’s set her off.

Upon entering the living room, you see why she’s pissed, and… okay, you understand. The vacuum decided to explode, and dust litters the carpet that she had clearly almost been finished with cleaning if the timing was right.

“Merda,” your grumble. Shit.

Before you can stop her, she’s kicked the vacuum, only making it litter the floor with even more clumps of dust, hair, dirt… Jesus Christ.

She screams out of frustration, and something inside of you just… you start screaming with her. And it takes her by so much surprise that those emerald orbs widen a comical amount, and she can’t help the giggle that erupts out of her mouth. It’s that deep belly laugh that you know is so genuine.

“What- are- you- doing?” Your wife asks you between howls of laughter.

You simply shrug. “I figured that if you were yelling in frustration, I probably should too.”

“You- you’re ridiculous,” Melissa giggles, and you can tell that her frustration is slowly slipping away.

“I may be,” you smile. “But it made you smile… now, should we go get a new vacuum?”

—

When Melissa and you first started dating, you knew that she bled Philly. She bleeds green for the Eagles, she adores the Phillies and the Phanatic, and she’ll chant “Ten, nine, eight, seventy-sixers” until she’s hoarse.

So when any of her teams make a mistake, you know it’s going to take everything in you to calm her down.

The Phillies are tied at the top of the eleventh inning. The eleventh inning. Your wife is screaming at Alvarado as he gives up a pitch that drives a run home.

“Figlio di puttana!” the redhead next to you yells as she jumps up from her space on the couch. Son of a bitch. “Chi Cazzu?” What the fuck?

You can’t help the soft smirk that settles on your face. Of course your wife slips into Italian and Sicilian over a baseball game. You just run your hands up and down her arms as she settles back into the cushions.

The Phillies fucking lose. You can’t believe they lost. And if the words flying out of your wife’s mouth is any tell, she can’t believe it either. She’s already thrown the remote across the room, and… she’s never looked hotter.

Her hair is a mess, no doubt from her running her fingers through it nervously throughout the entire game. The sweat shorts of yours that she’s sporting right now hug every single curve just right, and when she bends over to pick up the remote again… holy shit. The Phillies jersey that she’s sporting over her sports bra… Jesus Christ. And her passion? Good Lord, you’ve never been more attracted to your wife.

As she stands, your heart begins to race, and there’s something inside of you that feels so primal- like she has to be yours this very second, or you simply may die. You pull her in by the waist, your fingernails digging into her hips with such a possessive way to it.

“Oh,” Melissa practically whimpers into your mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you mumble against her lips. “Jesus Christ.”

The passion that was previously projected on the game still going on in the background is projected onto you instead.

Before you even know what’s happening, you’ve practically ripped the jersey off of your wife’s body. Her body is pinned to the couch as you slowly begin your way down her body, stopping at the nape of her neck. After years of knowing Melissa, you know her body like the back of your hand. You know what will drive her wild.

“Hun,” her fingers entangle in your hair as she groans out that one word. She pulls you off of her, only to meet your eyes with her own, blown wide.

“D-don’t make me stop now, Lis,” you grumble, although you do give into her wishes.

She laughs that gorgeous laugh of hers. “‘m not. Take me to our room though. I’m too old to fuck on the couch.”

“You don’t want me to fuck you on the couch like a horny teenager?” you laugh as you go back to nipping at the nape of her neck. You can feel her breathy sighs. 

You know if takes everything in her to mutter out, “You are a horny teenager. And, I do, but in bed- because as soon we’re finished, you know I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” you mutter as you lift her into your arms and up the steps towards your bedroom.

It’s only after the two of you are finished with your escapades, breathing heavily with the air still muggy, that you turn to her with a smirk on your face.

“If this is how I get to treat you after the Phils lose… I hope they lose more often.”

You can still see the way that she’s breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling sporadically, but those words make her breath catch in her chest. She lazily lulls her head to the side to hit you with a glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right,” you chuckle out weakly. “Because if they win too, I know I get to fuck you just as hard.”

—

It was rare- few and far between- but there were times where you had absolutely no idea what the hell you’ve done to piss off your wife. 

And today is one of those days. Usually, you wake up to a wonderful breakfast. You wake up to a cup of coffee. You wake up to your wife smiling as you kiss her gently. But today? Nothing. She made herself breakfast, she made herself coffee, and when you lean in to kiss her, she almost shies away from the affection. You furrow your brow, but you suppose that maybe she’s just woken up in a mood.

The ride to work is silent, and her hand never finds its way to your upper thigh the way that it usually does. Once you pull in, you turn to face her.

“Honey, what’s going on?” you ask softly.

Her arms fold over her chest, and the pout on her face makes you want to kiss her already bad day away.

“I’m mad at you.”

Quietly, you rack your brain for anything that could’ve pissed her off. You come up with nothing. Last night’s escapades proved that to you. “Honey, what?”

You can see the fire in Melissa’s eyes as she repeats, “I’m mad at you.”

“Baby, what did I do?”

“You pissed me off in my dream last night.”

You can’t help the giggle that leaves your lips. “I- What? What did I do in your dream?”

“You told me that you didn’t like my ziti anymore,” your wife grumbles.

Eyes of your own roll as you look to the redhead sitting in the passenger seat. “God, I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” she mutters. “But I’m still pissed.”

“And you have every right to be,” you validate her feelings. “I’d be pretty pissed too if you told me you didn’t want me to make tacos anymore in my dream.”

That look of annoyance written on her face slowly begins to melt, but you know you have to keep talking.

“And you know for a fact that if I ever said that, that’s grounds for divorce,” you tell her, a smirk evident on your face. “And I would never want that. I need my girl.” You kiss her temple.

The woman next to you bites her lip. “You promise you still love my ziti?”

“Lis, if I ever tell you I don’t like your ziti no more, I want you to take me out onto the back porch, and shoot me.”

That fully gets your wife to break out of her anger. That smile that could light up Philly all on its own is back as she rolls her eyes and sets her hand on your thigh. “So dramatic.”

“But you love and my dramatics.”

“I do.”

—

For as cool, and as calm, and as collected as you tend to be, every so often you lose control of your temper. And just like you’re there for your wife, Melissa is also there for you. She knows on the rare occasion that you’re in one of your moods, she needs to put a lid on her own simmering temper. 

And lately? By God, have you been furious. You’ve done your best to conceal it- know that it’s because your period is going to come yet again. But today, you wake up nauseous and angry, and you feel like you want to be the one to punch the head off of a cardboard cutout.

“Hun, are you sure you should be going into work like this?” Melissa pops her head into the bathroom. She’s heard you dry-heaving for the last five minutes.

Your hands that once clenched the toilet bowl now curl into fists as you turn to look at the redhead with such an anger in your eyes that she’s not quite ready for the look.

“I’m fine.”

“Babe,” your wife makes her way a bit further into the bathroom. “It’s okay if you need to take today off.”

“I can’t, and I won’t,” you grit out as you force yourself away from the porcelain. “There’s too much to do, no substitutes, and-” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s forming. Why are you getting so emotional? The stress- it’s the stress you always feel around this time of year. 

It’s clear to Melissa that you should absolutely not be going into Abbott today, but who is she to argue with you when you get in these moods? She knows better now after years of living and loving with you. 

Her lips form into one thin line before she blows out a soft breath. “I’m not going to argue with you.”

“Thank you,” you say rather tersely.

The drive to school is silent. It had started with the radio on, but you quickly became frustrated with that one song that’s constantly being played, and your hand sharply slaps the button to turn it off. You miss the way that Melissa’s jaw drops and her eyes go wide at your action. But she knows better than to comment on it. Her eyes stay glued to the streets of Philadelphia as you drive.

Your work day is… less than ideal. There’s a staff meeting in the morning, you’re missing your prep because the art teacher is out today, your stomach is still churning. By the time you get to lunch, you’re absolutely wiped, and you’re about a hair away from losing your temper.

Deciding it may be best to avoid staff room conversation for today, you quietly grab your lunch from the fridge and make your way back down to your classroom for some peace and quiet.

When you open up your lunch though, the smell of mayonnaise hits you like it’s never hit you before, and you- you quickly close the bag back up and push the sandwich away from you. You eat the banana before closing your eyes gently.

Melissa frowns when she sees that you’ve already been in and out of the staff room. “I’ll be back.” Red hair bounces as she quickly makes her way down to your end of the school.

“Y/N?” She steps into the room, and she’s beyond confused when she catches you with your eyes closed at your desk, sandwich untouched.

Your eyes peel open. “What?” And you say it in such a tone that your wife is taken aback.

“Are you not going to come eat with us?”

“Not hungry,” you grumble. “Tired.”

Melissa knows that you tend to get like this sometimes, but this is extreme- even for you. You never show your true exhaustion at work. You reserve it for home where you know you can just be you.

She nods softly before pressing a kiss to your temple and letting you be, telling your coworkers that you just have some work to catch up on when she returns.

When the two of you get home, you retire to bed immediately. You’re asleep until… eight. And then when you wake up, you can hardly stomach the food that your wife sets out in front of you. And after you’ve taken the few bites of food that the redhead actively forces you to eat, you head right back to the bedroom and fall asleep again.

That’s so unlike you. Melissa’s brown furrow as she checks the timeline in her head. With a realization, she grabs her car keys. She kisses your temple, tucks the blankets around you just a bit tighter, and heads out.

It’s been so long since your wife has perused these aisles in the CVS. Every other time, you’ve gone by yourself. It’s honestly kind of strange. The last time she bought this was when she was with Joe. She checks out, the cashier only giving her a slightly confused look, and then heads home.

The next morning is a repeat of the previous day. Except this time, upon smelling your sandwich, you do throw up. You bolt from your classroom and just barely make it to the student restrooms before you’re emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Melissa sighs heavily before she makes the trek back down to her classroom, pulls one thing from her purse, and heads back down to where you had ran off to.

You’re heaving for breath when she gets to you. She pulls off a small amount of toilet paper and hands it to you with a slightly disgruntled look.

Without any more words, your wife just hands you the box. Your eyes scan it silently before you look back to her with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Just… take it,” Melissa encourages you softly. She flushes the contents of the toilet before leaving the stall to leave you to your business.

Five minutes later, the word “Pregnant” is staring back at you. You take the biggest breath, holding it as you exit the stall with your eyes still on that one word. You hand it to the redhead silently, a smile appearing on your face.

“Well, at least now we know why I’ve been up in arms lately,” you giggle.

She doesn’t say anything- just pulls you into a warm kiss, her arms wrapped firmly around you.

“Are you ready for the next… probably eight months?” you ask with a smirk.

Green eyes are rolled fondly. “I think I can contain my rage for the next eight months for you and bambino or bambina.”