#freaking-isadorkable

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  one.

When Beca speaks, she has this way of gesturing, Chloe notices. It is a way to either emphasize or to draw attention away from her words in varying states of confidence.

Generally, Chloe thinks Beca really doesn’t have much to be unsure of, but she knows it isn’t her sole duty to reassure Beca of how amazing she is at any given point. Chloe will do it willingly of course, but she knows Beca prefers working things out on her own, but that’s not to say that Chloe isn’t absolutely willing to hold her hand through it all.

Sometimes— sometimes —Beca surprises her, however. 

Like now, two ciders into their impromptu Bellas hang-out. Beca reaches across the distance between them on the couch and pulls Chloe’s hand right into her lap, observing the rings on Chloe’s fingers.

Chloe zeroes in on the way Beca holds her hand. It is a manner that can only be characterized as tender and affectionate, like Beca almost wants to intertwine their fingers. She doesn’t, however, and through Chloe’s pleasantly inebriated state, she smiles when Beca’s fingers trace nonchalant lines over Chloe’s palm.

“What are you doing?” Chloe asks, resisting the urge to pull her hand back immediately. It’s nice, admittedly. More than nice. But she realizes that heat is swelling in her body in all the wrong places.

Beca is dating Jesse (kind of). 

Chloe is decidedly not dating Beca (just an objective fact).

Beca has no idea how Chloe feels, how Chloe felt, how Chloe will feel years from this moment—

“That tickles,” Chloe murmurs.

“I like your—” Beca hiccups. Chloe tries not to react. “—your rings,” Beca finishes, looking intently at Chloe’s hand.

Chloe would offer the literal clothes off her back if Beca asked, but she figures offering the rings off her fingers would somehow be more intimate than that. So she says nothing instead.

Beca sighs for no real reason at all and drops her hand. Chloe mourns the loss immediately.

  — — — — — — — — —

 That night, Chloe dreams of achingly slow hands caressing her sides, her thighs, her neck, her face, but never quite where Chloe needs her most.

She has dreamt of Beca like this before, only to awake guilty and sweaty and achingly wet between her legs. 

This time is not different, except Chloe wakes to the phantom sensation of Beca’s hands, like she knows exactly how Beca’s hands would have felt against her skin. First, the phantom press of fingertips between her thighs, spreading her legs gently and surely.

The gentleness she attributes to Beca is so familiar to her now, having known Beca for a year or so. There is something incredibly tender about Beca—something unspoken, yet just within Chloe’s grasp, she’s sure of it—and it is something Chloe feels especially privileged to know of, even if Beca would rather have people think that she’s a little rough around the edges.

Still—

Chloe bites her lip to stifle the quiet groan that escapes, perhaps a little too belatedly. She presses her own fingers between her legs, against her clit, then immediately between wet folds. Gasping, she pushes through, imagining what it would feel like to have Beca Mitchell’s fingers between her legs. She’s sure they would be exploratory at first. Maybe a little tentative with just a hint of boldness.

Touch me, Chloe would say.

Where, Beca would reply. Voice thick with desire. God, Chloe can hear it.

Everywhere, Chloe would beg.

She gasps and comes, heat exploding between her legs and behind tired eyelids.

She avoids Beca’s eyes for a few days afterwards and tries to ignore how it feels whenever Beca grasps her elbow or shoulder to get her attention.

  — — — — — — — — —

  two.

Beca is a little clumsy when she drinks.

It is so, so messy, their first time (but still delightful). 

They’ve been hanging out more and attempting this whole “dating” thing without really putting a label on it. 

It is the first night Chloe is staying over at Beca’s apartment since they agreed to “date” whatever form that has taken over their past couple outings. 

Chloe likes holding Beca’s hand in public. She likes being able to kiss her and cup her cheek and hug Beca a little more tightly than usual.

But this—this is so much better, Chloe thinks. She manages short, stuttered breaths when Beca palms her breasts almost greedily. Desperate, Chloe recognizes. Her nipples press insistently back against Beca’s palms, the sensation ricocheting all the way down to her aching, neglected clit.

Beca’s confidence has only swelled over the years. Her intimacy with Chloe has deepened into something so delicate and precious that Chloe can’t imagine that there ever was a time where Beca shied away from touch or affection.

The way she touches Chloe’s cheek— I adore you —or the way she presses her fingers to the inside of Chloe’s wrist when she departs with a kiss to her cheek or lips— I’m going to miss you —

They are all expressions of love and Chloe cherishes every last one.

They are yet to broach this last boundary and they are both uncharacteristically shy. Chloe hopes that Beca wants her as well.

She tears her mouth away from Beca’s jaw in an attempt to steady herself, but finds herself begging Beca to touch her. “Please,” she whimpers when she sees the hesitation and confusion in Beca’s eyes.

Beca’s gaze drops to Chloe’s chest, confusion still evident in her furrowed brow. It would be cute, absolutely adorable, how Beca attempts to reconcile her uncertainty with her clear desire to keep her hands where they are...if it weren’t for how much Chloe needs them to literally move along.

“Here,” Chloe breathes, grabbing Beca’s wrist as gently as she can with how her body trembles to have Beca touch her elsewhere. She directs Beca’s hand down, down, down to where the edge of her skirt rests on her thigh, but she can’t stop there. Biting her lip, she keeps her gaze on Beca’s face—now a mixture of awe and lust—and pushes Beca’s hand up her thigh, all the way between her legs where she hopes against hope Beca gets the hint.

(It’s a pretty big hint, considering Chloe is wearing underwear that barely meets the definition of what underwear is.) 

Beca, for all her intuition and certainty does not move her hand for at least a second and Chloe wonders if she made the wrong decision.

All at once, however, Beca’s fingers twitch into action and her eyes darken even further. Her fingers, deft as ever, flick over Chloe’s throbbing, wanting clit. The action causes Chloe’s hips to buck up. Ever the musician, Beca’s brow arches in a way that Chloe really only ever associated with Beca discovering a sound she liked with the tap of a button on her laptop. 

It’s a strange association to make, sure, but it’s all Chloe can think about—Beca laying her out on the closest available surface and playing every inch of her body like a finely tuned instrument of which only Beca knows exactly which notes make the sweetest sounds.

“So good,” Chloe rasps, pulling Beca’s head towards her for a bruising kiss. They both taste like sangria but Chloe feels the most sober she has ever felt in years.

“You’re so wet,” Beca rasps. Her breath is hot against Chloe’s mouth. “For me,” she mumbles, more to herself than anything. Chloe nods, tangling her fingers into Beca’s hair when her lips press insistently against Chloe’s jaw, then her neck. And her hands— God, they finally move.

Chloe bites her lip to keep from crying out at the flush of pleasure from the slow slide of Beca’s fingers into her wanting, desperate cunt. She barely holds in the moan from the back of her throat as Beca’s fingers nestle themselves inside her snugly, twitching and flexing like all Beca wants to do is fuck her right into the mattress.

“Please,” Chloe whispers. “Please, Bec, I’ve wanted this for so long. You—your hands on me.” Beca’s fingers draw out slightly, pulling another moan from Chloe’s lips. “ In me,” she groans, pushing her face into the warm, damp skin of Beca’s neck. 

She could say so much more, but Beca’s answering, needy whine is enough to fill the space between them.

  — — — — — — — — —

 Beca is shy about it the next morning, but the first thing she does is reach for Chloe with open, wanting palms.

I want this, she says with slow tentative palms trailing up the expanse of Chloe’s back. I want you.

Her fingers tense against Chloe’s shoulder blades for a moment before she cups Chloe’s cheek and kisses her with precision.

I love you.

  — — — — — — — — —

  three.

Chloe isn’t sure what she expects when she ties Beca’s wrists against the metal bars of their headboard. The gentle yellow and blue of their old Bellas scarves now have new life, contrasted against black metal and pale skin.

“God,” Chloe murmurs, straddling Beca’s waist. She leans down to steal a kiss from Beca’s lips, grinning when Beca attempts to chase her. Unable to resist, she kisses the resulting pout that spreads across Beca’s lips, already tender and a little swollen from their heavy make-out session. “You look so good like this, Bec.” 

She reaches back blindly, taking stock of Beca’s heavy breathing and the way her hands tense and flex, unable to touch Chloe. It’s so obvious, how much Beca wants to touch her. It makes Chloe feel all kinds of wanted; all kinds of desired. She finally reaches her destination and while keeping her eyes on Beca, tugs at the silicon rising from between Beca’s legs. Beca inhales sharply and stares at Chloe with something akin to reproach.

“Chlo,” she breathes. Her hands flex again. 

Chloe groans, lifting her hips and pushing herself back and onto the strap-on with relative ease. “Fuck, baby. This feels so good.”

“I want to touch you,” Beca begs helplessly, eyes trained between Chloe’s legs when she lifts herself and then drops back down. Gripping hard at the sheets just under Beca’s arms, Chloe bites her lip as she leans forward just close enough to Beca’s face so she can feel her breath come out in short bursts.

“You touch me all the time,” Chloe murmurs, letting just a hint of teasing leave her lips. “That’s part of the problem. I told you to be on your best behaviour tonight.” 

Beca whines, helpless again, and pulls on her restraints. Her hips rock up with each swivel of Chloe’s hips. Chloe grunts at the sensation of Beca somehow filling her even more with each buck of her hips.

She’s already so fucking close.

(She had been close when Beca’s hand first glided up her thigh at dinner. She’s closer.)

Leaning back, Chloe rests her hands on Beca’s stomach, watching the muscles jump beneath her touch. She lifts her hips and pushes back down. Then again.

She builds a steady rhythm, taking care not to press too hard against Beca’s skin. The sound of her skin slapping against Beca’s skin echoes around their room, highlighted only by the whimpers Chloe tries to keep at bay. Beca’s lips are parted, eyes tracking desperately all over Chloe’s body as if she can’t quite decide where she wants to fix her gaze.

Chloe can help with that. She moves one of her own hands between her legs to rub at her clit. Beca’s eyes immediately lock onto that. Chloe likes putting on a show for Beca, even if all she wants are Beca’s hands on her body. Her talented, steady hands, coaxing Chloe to her next high.

Chloe’s eyes drift to Beca’s bound wrists, noting how tightly Beca’s hands are now clenched into fists.

She wants Beca’s hands on her, pulling tightly at her hair, holding her hips with a mildly bruising grip.

Her imagination helps somewhat and she groans at the imagery that floats through her mind. The memory of Beca’s iron grip on her hips and her waist, the memory of deft fingers pinching at stiff nipples—

When Chloe’s eyes fly open (when had they closed?), she fixates on Beca’s wanting gaze. Quickly, she stretches her hands out, almost moving to grip the iron bar, but instead diverting her touch to intertwine her fingers with Beca’s, holding on tightly as she rocks her hips vigorously into her orgasm. Gasping, she chants out Beca’s name until she can say no more and her hips still and her body stiffens.

Her hands continue to hold on tightly to Beca’s hands, her body arches over Beca’s, her knees locked tight against Beca’s hips: that is how Chloe comes, undone by one final, forceful push of her hips down against the silicon pressing into her cunt and filling her in a way that still somehow doesn’t feel quite as incredible as Beca’s fingers curling and pulling and pushing, but still —

She comes long and hard and her body reverberates with sheer satisfaction and Beca didn’t even have to touch her.

  — — — — — — — — —

  four.

Chloe sometimes has to share Beca’s hands with her other passion (Beca assures her otherwise—that Chloe is her one and only passion in every sense of the word and of course, who is Chloe to protest when Beca looks at her like that ), which is creating music for millions of adoring fans.

Beca’s steady rise to fame and notoriety didn’t happen overnight, but Chloe is proud to have been there for the bulk of it all. While Beca claims her career really started when they moved to New York and she had been clocking long hours at a record label she didn’t even really like, Chloe likes to remind her of bright-eyed hopes and dreams and the most unexpected mash-ups for acapella competitions that seem like an entire lifetime ago.

(That being said, falling in love with Beca Mitchell didn’t happen overnight either – it happened in gradual stages, all of which pretty much transpired at Barden. All the hours spent locked away in Chloe’s room, working on setlists, or in a quiet corner in the library hiding from Amy or Jesse or avoiding responsibilities—all of those moments amounted to something so much more than Chloe could have ever dreamed of.)

It still never gets old when Beca loses herself in her music. The way her entire body seems to tremble with unreleased energy, desperate to be let out. Beca bursts with creativity and newness, each production never failing to awe Chloe into silence or surprise her into tears.

It isn’t a surprise to Beca anywhere that sometimes Chloe pulls up a seat next to her to watch her work, intently watching her hands move across her keyboard, mouse, or Launchpad. Sometimes even her mixing board when she’s putting all the finishing touches on a demo.

Chloe tries not to ask questions because she doesn’t want to distract Beca, but the energy Beca displays and the sheer excitement in her eyes causes a visceral reaction in Chloe’s own body. Sometimes she feels the tiniest ounce of jealousy whenever Beca’s hands fly across her board with sureness and expertise—and of course her dexterity —but Chloe chalks it up to sheer irrationality.

Oddly, or perhaps not oddly at all, Chloe finds herself experiencing the strangest out of body experience while watching Beca work on a new song for yet another new artist. The names, once exciting and jaw-dropping, are simply just names that float in and out of Chloe’s world. She can tell Beca is working on something slow, perhaps a bit more melodic than her usual pop and electronic productions.

The strangest heat rushes through Chloe’s body when Beca essentially caresses—for lack of a better word—each individual knob on her board like each slight movement is giving her exactly what she’s looking for. Beca’s hair is messy from having rolled out of bed, too inspired right in the morning to stay in bed despite Chloe’s half-hearted protests and attempts to entice Beca back into bed.

It takes a little while, but Chloe forces herself to stand up and make herself busy. Her body is still a little sore, but deliciously so.

“Babe,” Chloe calls softly. She places a cup of tea and a bowl of fruits on the side table, careful to avoid placing them too close to Beca’s precious electronics. “Got you some breakfast.”

Beca nods a little absentmindedly and Chloe waits for a split second before deciding to retreat to her own work for at least an hour or so before attempting to distract Beca again. But Beca surprises her, pulling her headphones off her head and unplugging them completely. “Want to see?” Beca asks. “Hear,” she corrects softly.

Chloe nods eagerly and moves to stand next to Beca’s desk, pressing her hip into Beca’s shoulder comfortably. Beca’s hand comes up to gently curve up her ass and around her hip. Chloe stifles a smile at Beca’s blatant and successful attempt to feel her up.

“What am I looking at?” Chloe asks, staring at Beca’s screen. Layers and layers of music and rhythm glare back at her. Chloe has some idea of what it might sound like based on sight, but she feels so out of practice with music these days that she doesn’t bother forcing herself to go any further.

Beca taps out a few shortcuts on her keyboard with one hand while the other hand drums a little rhythm into Chloe’s hip.

The music that erupts from the laptop’s speakers fills Chloe immediately, covering her in pure warmth. It is decidedly different, Chloe thinks. And so, so beautiful with something that resembles more of an orchestral arrangement than solely synthetic beats and light pop.

It makes Chloe feel full — full of love and adoration and desire for this incredible woman who stares up at her with so much hope and love, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself if Chloe were to say she hated the arrangement.

“How—how did you get all the—” Chloe’s words come out half-spoken and broken because she’s unsure how articulate the breadth of her emotion without simply sliding into Beca’s lap and kissing her soundly.

“Oh, just—” Beca removes her hand from Chloe’s hip to click around the screen and fiddle with the buttons. “I started with the melody and then kind of just built up all this—” she gestures over the machine, “—over it. I thought about something I heard in the park the other day, the way you were kind of humming along with that pianist.” Beca blushes, focusing back down intently on board in front of her. It’s really just adorable, in all honesty. Even after two years of dating, Beca still blushes whenever she verbally addresses anything that resembles how in love with Chloe she is. Chloe loves poking fun at her for that. 

Chloe’s hand comes up to grip Beca’s shoulder, perhaps a little too tightly because Beca glances up at her. Her question or statement dies on her lips when she catches sight of Chloe’s expression, which in all honesty, Chloe isn’t sure how she looks exactly at that moment.

(But if there were an exact name for the expression for how much she wants Beca’s hands on her—her fingers inside her—at that moment, she’s sure that’s exactly what she looks like at that moment.)

“Show me again,” Chloe requests. Beca’s gaze is heavy, cutting right through the morning haze. It takes everything in Chloe’s willpower to not let anything show across her face, but she immediately fails when her lower lip finds itself tucked between her teeth. Beca’s eyes zero in on the action immediately and Chloe can just tell that her girlfriend is resisting her natural instinct to smirk self-assuredly.

Beca composes herself quickly enough, however, and clears her throat, shifting back from the table slightly. The gesture isn’t lost on Chloe and she can’t help the grin that spreads across her lips when she settles comfortably in Beca’s lap. 

“It’s just…easier,” Beca comments entirely unnecessarily. “To show you, like this,” she adds hastily. Chloe likes Beca’s voice like this—there is a nervous little lilt to Beca’s voice like she is insecure or afraid, though Chloe thinks Beca has absolutely no need to be either of those things.

Especially not when Beca held her with such confidence and sureness just the night before, memories of which still float dreamily in and out of Chloe’s mind, like a pleasant reminder that their bed is literally right there —

Chloe clears her throat and waits while Beca shifts a little behind her. Somehow, Beca is both solid and malleable, pressing neatly into Chloe’s back like their bodies have not known any other state of being. Beca’s right hand automatically finds purchase on Chloe’s thigh, higher than completely necessary. Her fingers twitch at the edge of the underwear Chloe shucked on when she woke that morning. Chloe steadies herself with a short breath and refocuses on the many knobs in front of her, infinitely more daunting now that she is faced with them head-on. It takes Beca a few seconds, but her left hand comes up to fiddle with what Chloe somewhat recognizes as the volume control, pulling it down a notch or two. Beca’s chin lifts over Chloe’s shoulder, her breath coming out in warm puffs against Chloe’s neck.

— — — — — — — — —

It happens so quickly that Chloe isn’t quite sure if either of them says anything coherent. One moment, Beca has her hand over Chloe’s guiding her to tune just the right melody, then the next, Chloe’s back collapses hard into the couch and Beca is kneeling between her legs, mouth immediately latching onto her clit through the thin fabric of her underwear.

Chloe is numb to sound—a rarity in her life—while Beca’s mouth works wonders between her legs. She thinks she chokes out Beca’s name, thinks she begs her to please please Beca—please Beca, fuck me— but she can’t be sure what happens exactly because her head is tilting back and her hands are weaving into Beca’s thick tresses to hold her head and lips and tongue steady between her legs. Beca’s fingers deftly move her underwear aside before she seems to think better of it and she pulls them haphazardly down Chloe’s legs, nearly ripping them in the process.

“Beca,” she chokes out both in surprise and arousal. 

Beca ignores her, pressing her lips between her legs instead. It is as if Beca can’t quite decide what she wants to do, sucking first at Chloe’s clit, then slicing her tongue through Chloe’s wet folds. 

There is no rhythm, not specifically. She can feel the rhythm of her own steady heart, but that isn’t enough to ground her. 

Finally, amidst breathless cries and whimpers, nearly incoherent to them both, Beca rises from between her legs and kisses her harshly, pressing her tongue into Chloe’s mouth. Chloe groans at the taste of herself, looping her hands behind Beca’s neck to keep her there.

They break apart, however. “I’ve got you,” Beca murmurs thickly, pressing her forehead against Chloe’s. Chloe whimpers in response, but she nods, pulling gently at Beca’s hair to urge her into another kiss.

Beca’s fingers move between her legs, slipping into her cunt with ease. It is almost laughable how ready she is for Beca at any given moment. All Beca has to do is look at her and she could be wet in a heartbeat, but the reality of having Beca drum her own personal rhythm into her is so much better.

  — — — — — — — — —

 Later, in bed, after another three or so orgasms—Chloe doesn’t bother counting anymore—they both lie tangled together, sated and content. Chloe smirks at Beca from where she still hovers slightly above her and slips her fingers into her mouth, licking the remnants of Beca’s wetness off her fingertips.

Beca tracks the motion with wide eyes. “So should I just…make more music like that? Or…?”

Chloe swats Beca in the stomach, both of them collapsing into muted giggles before Chloe puts an end to that by rolling over and pressing a gently insistent kiss to Beca’s lips. Beca’s lips are soft and pliant in contrast with the way her hand weaves solidly through Chloe’s hair, holding her in place.

  — — — — — — — — —

five.

And there are times that are so laden with emotion that Chloe barely has enough sense to document every last moment. Somehow, she always remembers two things with startling clarity: first, the way Beca’s eyes will stare into her own with an intensity to rival the greatest supernovas in the universe and second, the way Beca’s hands will map every last inch of Chloe’s body with the kind of reverence one might expect a person to bestow upon royalty.

(Nothing is in the way anymore. They have danced around these feelings for years at a pace that would make glaciers envious.)

The honor is all mine, Chloe thinks, breathless with want, lust, and so much more when Beca’s hands spread her legs with all the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she does. It’s only when Chloe lifts herself up on shaking elbows and watches Beca’s mouth slowly move along the soft skin of her inner thighs that she recognizes the deepest of desires in Beca’s eyes.

I want this too, her eyes say. The tightening of her fingers into the supple skin along Chloe’s thighs, her hips—everywhere, really— say everything else. Always, forever, mine.

All the words Beca cannot say and does not say, at least not into the moment.

Chloe lets herself fall right into Beca’s sure grasp.

  — — — — — — — — —

The next morning that Chloe begins to fully come back into her own body. She wakes up temporarily to Beca’s hand tracing imaginary shapes up her side. It must be early because the New York streets are nearly devoid of sound. The occasional honk, but nothing incessant and grating on her ears. All she can hear is the occasional groan and the way they echo through old pipes and the sound of— 

Chloe becomes more alert.

The sound of Beca’s humming.

And it becomes even more apparent that Beca’s hand, gentle and light against Chloe’s sleep-warmed skin, is tracing out rhythms and notes that would otherwise have no visible form if not for the way her hand movements match the gentle rumble of Beca’s voice.

It makes something in Chloe’s chest catch and she struggles to hold on to the last vestiges of consciousness. Beca’s hand slips down her shoulder, then her arm before she eventually finds her destination—

(how fitting, Chloe thinks. To seek out Chloe’s hand while she is meant to be asleep when all Chloe has ever done in all her time of knowing Beca Mitchell was to reach out)

—and slips her hand comfortably into Chloe’s hand. Her fingers slot neatly between Chloe’s and she tugs their joined hands up, up, up until together their hands rest above Chloe’s heart.

For all intents and purposes, Beca says nothing. But this—the reality of it all—is so much better. Chloe finds herself taking stock of the comfortable sensation of Beca’s bare skin pressed against her own—warm curves pressed against her back with the intimacy of an entire lifetime between them—and the gentleness of Beca’s leg tucked between her own, like only a casual reminder of what they shared the night before.

Chloe falls asleep again just a victim to Beca’s grasp, heavy over her heart.

I love you, I love you—

(a squeeze of a hand just be sure)

—I love you.

Emily’s eyes soften and shereaches up, her thumb brushing over a spot on Aubrey’s cheek. “It’s like, allover you.”

“I don’t understand children’sfascination with glitter. When I was younger, I was never interested inglitter.”

“It’s sparkly,” Emily reasons.

“It’s messy, but it was the onlything that kept their attention for more than two minutes.”

Emily grins at her a little. “Huh.So you have no problem getting a group of twenty and thirty somethings to swimin literal mud, but watching kids for an hour is your breaking point?”

Aubrey sniffs petulantly. “Twentyand thirty somethings have learned to respect authority figures even if thatperson is telling them to get in mud.”

“Uh huh.” Emily shakes her head inamusement. “You want me to come help you tomorrow?”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would.” Emily tiltsher head, looking at her. “I love kids. And I love you. Sounds like a fun day.”

Aubrey represses a sigh of relief.She doesn’t want her girlfriend to know how close she was to stress-crying atthe thought of another day with all those tiny monsters. Children… they haveabsolutely no self-awareness.

“Well, you won’t be saying it’sfun when the day is over.”

“Bet you I will.” Emily rubs ather cheek again, trying to get the glitter off. Then she pecks Aubrey on thelips. “Hm. You’re beautiful. That glitter really brings out your eyes.”

Aubrey snorts and goes to take ashower before Emily can see the blush on her cheeks.

//

Aubrey had never really had agreat relationship with kids. As she grew older, she waffled back and forthbetween wanting them. Sometimes it was a nice thought, the idea of her andEmily bringing someone else into their family. Usually that was the thoughtthat drove the fantasy, a mini-Emily running around, someone with dark hair andclumsy limbs and an infectious laugh. Aubrey liked the idea of that. She likedit a lot.

But then doubts would creep in andshe’d think of her own parental trauma, from her mom’s abandonment of her andher father’s pressure and neglect. How could she raise a child? Shecould barely care for Emily’s hamster when Emily went out of town forwork for a few days. Sure she was responsible, but emotionally? She was a fewsteps shy of being considered emotionally available. No that was Emily’s thing,and it took all of Aubrey’s mindfulness to be present in her relationship,to not be defensive and biting and have intense expectations that were justunrealistic.

Emily made her better, made hersoft and open to change, but she was far from perfect.

That became clearer watching Emilynavigate the daycare’s tiny occupants with ease. Compared to Aubrey’sfrustration the day before, Emily made babysitting look like a walk in thepark.

Perhaps it was Emily’s demeanor,her positive attitude and contagious smile, that caused children to gravitatetoward her with patience and peace. There was no screaming, no throwingglitter everywhere.

Aubrey watches in near awe asEmily claps her hands and all the children freeze what they’re doing to listento her. “Okay, everybody listen up!” Emily smiles her bright and shiny smile.“For the next half hour, we’re going to have storytime. If you can all sit veryquietly and politely to listen, then after that, you’ll get to make as muchnoise as you want. Deal?”

The children nod slowly, circlingaround to listen as Emily opens the nearest Magic Treehouse book andstarts to read. They sit, enraptured, as Emily’s voice leads them through thestory, into adventure and conflict and excitement. Aubrey tries to listen, too,but she mostly can’t stop staring as her girlfriend gets into it, making voicesfor the characters, her free hand gesturing in front of her as she reads. Itmakes Aubrey’s heart do weird things in her chest.

The half hour passes and Emilystops reading, but the kids whine for more, so she keeps going until she’s beenreading an hour without one interruption. Aubrey can’t believe it.

Finally, Emily closes the book.“Okay guys. Nice job! Now… who’s ready to make some noise!”

The kids all scream and Aubreywinces, but Emily just laughs. She goes to the storage closet and pulls out abunch of cheap instruments, mainly plastic drums and keyboards. The kids gowild, rushing to grab an instrument from the pile.

Then it’s pandemonium and Aubreyalmost sticks her fingers in her ears. But as she watches, they all sit andjust play. It’s not good - it’s horrible, truthfully - but they’rebehaving and entertained.

She grumbles to herself in shockas Emily comes up to her.

“You have to let them go nutssometimes,” Emily explains. “They have a lot of energy.”

“It’s been all morning and not onechild has needed a bandaid.” Aubrey eyes her girlfriend, impressed. “How,Emily. How?”

Emily just shrugs. “They just wantto be treated like people, not like an afterthought. They have their owninterests and stuff, you just have to pay attention. And let them tirethemselves out,” she laughs.

True to Emily’s word, the kids eatlunch and pass out for naps an hour later. Aubrey stares around at the room ofsleeping kids in amazement. Even the ones who are too old for naps are sittingquietly, just listening to headphones or reading their own books.

Emily has one on her lap, rockingher back and forth slightly as the girl sucks her thumb and nuzzles intoEmily’s chest, her eyes closed.

It’s nice, Aubrey thinks. Shekinda wishes that were her. Minus the thumb sucking.

Just then, there’s a small tug onher sleeve and she looks down. A boy of about five - Aubrey thinks his name isJacob - stares up at her with wide eyes.

“Ms. Aubrey,” he says quietly, lowenough to not wake any of the others. “Can I color?”

“Oh. Sure.” Aubrey leads him overto one of the tables in the room and sets him up with coloring pages andcrayons. She sits down next to him, her cheek on her hand while he meticulouslytries to color in the lines of a puppy and kitty playing together.

He looks up at her after a fewminutes. “Do you like it?”

She smiles at him. “Yes, it looksvery nice.” And it does. He’s mostly colored in the lines, even if he coloredthe puppy blue and the kitty purple. Part of her itches to tell him thatpuppies aren’t blue, but she thinks better of it. It doesn’t matter, does it?

Hands land on her shoulder, movingher hair off her neck. “That looks lovely, Jacob.”

Jacob smiles upward, showing offthe gap in his front teeth. “Thanks, Ms. Emily. Do you wanna color?”

Emily laughs in Aubrey’s ear, lowand pretty. “Sure.”

Emily sits down next to Aubrey onthe bench at the table, pulling a clean piece of white paper toward her. Shestarts to draw a picture, hands moving purposefully over the page. Aubreywatches as she draws a house with a tree in the front yard and a cat. Two stickfigures materialize in front of the house, one with blonde hair and one withdark.

Aubrey soften as Emily writes Aubreyand Emily above the people.

“What are you coloring?” Jacobasks, peering at Emily’s drawing.

“My family,” Emily says easily.Aubrey about dies.

“Cool,” Jacob grins. “What aboutthe kids?”

Emily pauses, her eyes skitteringto Aubrey’s. “I dunno,” she says. “There’s no kids yet.”

“Oh.” Jacob nods. “But‘ventually?”

Emily’s cheeks pink and she goesuncharacteristically silent. Aubrey softens, turning to Jacob. “Not allfamilies have kids, Jacob,” she says gently.

“Oh.”

“But,” Aubrey continues. “MaybeMs. Emily’s will. Someday. In the future. When they’re ready.”

“Mmkay,” Jacob nods, turning backto his coloring.

Emily’s hand finds hers on thetabletop and squeezes. “Someday, huh?”

“Maybe,” Aubrey is quick to say.“If… that’s something Ms. Emily wants. Then maybe her family could, um, talkabout it.”

Emily’s smile starts small, butgrows until it’s splitting her cheeks. “Ms. Emily would really like to havethat conversation.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” Emily smile softens andher eyes glance at Aubrey’s lips before bashfully looking back to her drawing.Aubrey melts.