#kiwific

It’s been a long time since you came around,

Been a long time but I’m back in town

And this time I’m not leaving without you…

Dear Trixie

I hope it isn’t too weird that I’m writing to you like this after all this time. I know - Facebook is a thing that exists, and a much faster way of communicating, right? I unashamedly stalked your page and it looks to me like your parents still live in the same house you grew up in, so I’m assuming this will get to you somehow. Hell, you live in Bronte - the postman has probably known you since you were two, has kids that went to middle school with you, and knows exactly where you are at any given time.

Anywho, the reason I’m writing is that, well, I found our old letters when I was packing up my apartment and wanted to tell you this the old-fashioned way. I know it’s been a while since we talked, but you’re going to want to hear this…

I’m moving to Bronte!

I can hear your disbelief from here, and seriously, I know. What the actual fuck, Katya, right? Believe me, I’ve been asking myself that question enough when it comes to understanding the decision on a philosophical level, so let me just give you the facts:

When Aunt Stevie died, she left her house to me and Anya. Annie moved to Russia last year and couldn’t give a flying fuck what happens to the place, so I guess it’s mostly mine.

I’m a college graduate and a free house is definitely something that makes my future look much less ugly (loans are painful and I want to eat something other than ramen before I’m thirty).

Recent developments in my life have made me want to get far, far away from New York, and what could be further than Bronte?

Anyway, I’ll be there mid June! I’d love to catch up if you’re around and reminisce on old times… like the time we made toffee “apples” for the town fair, except they were really onions. And the time I made your friend cry when she wanted to be Baby Spice for that concert we put on fat your church (you were the best Baby Spice ever, by the way). I can already smell that sweet nineties nostalgia.

Please message me when you get this, I don’t expect you to write back, plus I might be out of this apartment by then. The sooner the better, in my honest opinion.

See you soon!

Katya

P.S. Fact number 5 - I miss you.

June

Katya could feel the dust in the air before she even stepped out of the car. She stretched her jean-clad legs out in front of her, feeling the heat heavy in the air as she stood up. Placing her hands at the small of her back, she groaned, feeling the effects of her two-day drive seep into her bones. Looking around, Katya (not for the first time ) questioned the wisdom of her decision to relocate to a southern state in the middle of a scorching summer. The whole plan was absolute insanity - who would have ever thought in a hundred years that she would move to Tennessee. This wasn’t the first time she’d had second, third, or even fourth thoughts about the move, and looking around at the picturesque town around her did very little to ease her nerves.

How the fuck did she end up back here?

Logically, the plan made sense. She had free accommodation here - a house that, beyond all belief, was hers alone. She would have time to write, time to sort her shit out. Time to stop moping over Rachel and get her head back in a healthy space. That, or she would slowly go insane with boredom. Or forced out of town by dyke-hating, pitchfork-wielding townsfolk. Too far?

Above her, the gas station sign leered down.

Bronte, Tennessee. Last gas stop for 20 miles!

Katya snorted to herself. Last anything for thirty miles, more like.

Filling up her ancient, cherry-red BMW, Katya peered down the main street. It had been approximately eleven years since she’d last been here.  Growing up, her aunt Stevie had an old farmhouse just out of town. They would fly (sometimes drive, to Katya and Anya’s mutual horror) and stay for weeks in the summer, Katya and her sister spending the long, hot days playing in the fields, climbing trees and swimming in the river.

Katya barely remembered the town itself, but a few things stood out: the general store with its array of mismatched soda signs, the diner with the hideous pale pink facade (still faded and chipped after all this time), and the water tower looming over the long line of shops. It had been years, but to Katya it looked like nothing had changed. She felt her cynicism draining away as she looked around, fond memories of her childhood drowning out the panicked voice in her head telling her this move was a mistake.

They had stopped coming here when Katya’s dad walked out - a disappearing act to rival any world-famous magician- and while Stevie tried to keep in touch, it got too hard for Katya’s mom to stay close to her ex-husband’s family. Stevie had always sent birthday cards, though. Right up until the year she got sick. Katya’s mom didn’t know what killed her, but no one was more surprised than Katya herself when a lawyer showed up at her apartment in New York with the news that Stevie’s three-bedroom farmhouse in hicksville had been left to Katya and Anya. Anya wasn’t extremely interested in the news, she was enjoying her new life in Russia with mom’s family. Katya didn’t think she cared either, maybe one day they could sell the house and use the money for their own city apartments…

Until the shitstorm happened with Rachel.

She had been utterly blindsided when Rachel walked out, she had to admit that. One minute, Rachel was moving in with her and Katya was thinking about their happy future together. The next, Rachel was packing, leaving a broken Katya alone on their bedroom floor as she walked out. Katya should have seen it coming, and the fact that she didn’t was one of the things that had hurt so much.

The petrol pump stopped and Katya shook her head, trying to clear her suddenly foggy thoughts. Enough of that. She was away from Rachel and from New York. As far away as she felt she could possibly get. This wasn’t some bullshit heartbroken woman moves to the country to find herself after a breakup saga, this was just her… getting away from everything in the city that would sabotage her. Getting away from the version of herself that she was spiraling back into before making the decision to move here. Saving some cash in the process too, because hey - free accommodation would do a wonder on her savings.

Moving her car to one of the parks at the front of the station, Katya decided to take a walk and visit some old haunts. She had planned to head to the house first and come back into town when she’d settled in a little, but something was gnawing at the back of her mind. Someone, rather.

Trixie.

When Katya had written to her friend, she’d been a little overwhelmed at the excited reply. Trixie had messaged her the minute she received the letter announcing her move, and for a while there her excitement was contagious. Katya couldn’t help but feel a knot of anxiety when it came to seeing Trixie in the flesh again, though. What if it was awkward? What if they didn’t know how to talk to each other anymore? What if they had both changed too much?

Trixie had been Katya’s best friend for the better part of six years, despite the fact that they only ever saw each other in the summer. They had met one scalding hot day down by the river at the back of Stevie’s property - Katya and Annie went there everyday to cool down, and Trixie and her brother were swimming with their dad. A precocious eight year old Katya had snobbishly told seven year old Trixie that it was her auntie’s river and that her Barbie swimsuit was gross and too pink. Trixie had pushed her in the river.

They were best friends from that day on. Every summer, Katya counted down the days to their trip to Bronte, marking the days off in her diary (black, with a wolf howling at the moon on it. She had been a weird kid). They swam, played in the fields, terrorized the locals of Bronte year after year. They told each other everything, sharing their deepest secrets, navigating the joys and disappointments of growing up. When they weren’t together, they wrote to each other. Almost every week, Katya would get a letter on brightly colored Lisa Frank stationary, Trixie’s neat handwriting filling the pages. Her own letters were scrawled back as fast as she could write them, words falling from her as she tried to fit her thoughts onto the small pages. When Katya’s parents started fighting, Trixie was the first person to know. When Trixie got her first period, Katya had been the person she had written to.

When Katya’s dad left, she’d written a letter to Trixie that had to be at least seven pages long. She had been so angry, so scared, so worried about what to to when her mom barely came out of her room. Trixie told her everything would be okay, and it was. Eventually, it was. The next summer, however, had confirmed Katya’s growing suspicions. They didn’t go back to Bronte.

She and Trixie had kept up their friendship through letters and occasional phone calls, but these tapered off over time. New friendships came along, more for Trixie than for Katya, but eventually the letters stopped all together. Katya thought of her sometimes when looking at the photos in her mom’s old albums - her favourite was one of the two of them passed out on a mattress in the back of a pickup truck after a party at Stevie’s place, straw in Trixie’s thick hair and a blanket covering the two of them.

A few years ago, Trixie had sought her out on Facebook and they had talked occasionally, reminiscing about old times. Katya didn’t realize until she shamelessly stalked Trixie’s profile how much she had genuinely missed the other girl, and she’d been startled to realize she was crying after finding the same picture of them in the truck in an album Trixie had labelled ‘Old times’.

Katya couldn’t help but steel herself for disappointment as she prepared for the move to Bronte. She logically knew that things couldn’t be like they used to be - there was no way they could just pick up where they left off and be as close as they had been, and that was fine. They had been kids. Trixie had her life her, her friends, she probably didn’t need Katya hanging around all the time. Katya wanted to try, though, she wanted to give their friendship a second shot.

Setting off down the main street of Bronte, her hands in her pockets, Katya had to marvel at how quiet it was. Sure, it was a Sunday and most people would be sweltering in their air-conditioned houses, but there was barely anyone around. On one side of the street, a little girl sat outside the general store with an Ice cream, a dog on a leash tied to her chair. On the other, a door jingled as someone left an antique shop carrying a hideous vase.

Katya closed her eyes and basked in the heat, taking a deep breath. Maybe this move wasn’t such a bad idea.

She knew Trixie worked in town, at a cafe Katya remembered as being an old converted diner. Now it was called Charlotte’s - a hideous connection to the town’s name that made Katya’s literature qualifications wince in pain - and was apparently Bronte’s answer to the apparent need for adorable hipster coffee shops in every town across America. Trixie had said to pop in when she got a chance, or give her a call when she wanted to meet up. Katya didn’t know why the thought made her nervous. Something about the idea of just walking into the cafe - which she could very clearly see further down the street - made her palms sweat.

Instead, she bought a packet of cigarettes from the corner store. Leaning on the brick wall outside, she lit a smoke, the heat travelling down to her lungs. She’d run out of cigarettes about twenty miles before arriving in Bronte, and she felt her body immediately relax with the long drag.    

“That shit’ll kill you, ya know” - a woman’s voice drawled, startling her out of her thoughts. Katya turned to meet achingly familiar brown eyes and a huge smile. A smile half formed on her face before a sudden lightning bolt shot through her chest at the sight of the woman she had missed so much without fully realizing it.

“Holy shit, Trixie?”

Katya’s lips broke into a full smile as she was pulled into a tight hug. For a second, she felt her breath leave her. She closed her eyes as she held Trixie just as tight as the other woman was hugging her, silently wondering if she could ever let her go. Trixie’s hair tickled her nose, her flowery perfume surrounding Katya. She smelled amazing, and Katya wanted to bury her face in her shoulder and never leave. Somehow she pulled back, taking in the sight of her friend and forcing herself not to stare for as long as she wanted to.

Stalking Trixie on Facebook had in no way prepared her for the reality of this woman.

Trixie was absolutely gorgeous. Her thick blonde hair, which she’d kept reasonably short as a kid, now fell in long waves over her shoulders. Her big brown eyes were shining as she looked at Katya, her makeup simple and light enough to show the freckles dotted lightly across her nose and cheeks. Her clothes were simple - washed denim shorts and a tight, pink v-necked shirt, but they hugged her curves in a way that was making Katya’s mind go into gay panic.

Katya smiled back, running a hand through her choppy hair and trying to think of something witty to say. She failed, just going in for another hug.

“God, Trix,” she said into the other woman’s neck. “It’s seriously been way too long,”

Trixie laughed into her shoulder and squeezed.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” she replied, pulling back to look Katya over. “Well look at you, Zamolodchikova. Are you sure the ladies of New York were ready to let you go?”

Katya snorted. If the ladies of Bronte are anywhere near as beautiful as you, I’m in deep trouble.

She pushed the thought down, cursing her demanding sapphic tendencies and replying to Trixie’s question before the other woman thought she was mentally challenged.

“Firstly, you’re still one of the only people on the planet who pronounces my last name correctly,” she said with a wide grin, “And secondly - the ladies of New York are half the reason I’m here,” she shrugged, taking a drag of her cigarette and letting out a long exhale. “One lady, in particular.”

Trixie nodded to the metal table a few feet away, and they sat down. Katya placed her cigarettes and keys on the table, crossing her legs as she tapped her smoke over the ashtray. Eyeing her from across the table, Trixie gave her a knowing look.

“The ‘recent developments’ you were talking about in your letter, I presume?”

Katya grinned, it was nice to hear that Trixie remembered the details of her letter.

“Yeah,” she replied, getting herself ready to repeat the same story most people knew about her breakup. The whole ‘oh, it just wasn’t working out between us. We were too different’ spiel that she could rattle off in her sleep.

“She cheated on me,” was what came out.

The admission surprised Katya. She had been sitting here with Trixie for what - all of five minutes? Sure, they had been inseparable once upon a time, but now Katya was sitting here with Trixie across from her… and in a way it was like they had picked up right where they left off. She still felt like she could tell this girl anything. It felt good to tell her the truth - something she hadn’t been doing much when it came to her breakup.

Trixie’s eyes were unreadable in that moment, and Katya wondered if she was having similar thoughts. Reaching across the table, Trixie took her hand. Her skin was impossibly soft and warm, her nails painted pastel pink.

“That’s bullshit,” she said, her soft tone contrasting with the harsh word. “You don’t deserve that.”

Katya shrugged.

“It’s been a while, I’m mostly over it,” she said. It was true, to a point. For a while there, she had felt herself spiraling. The move, however, seemed to have pulled her out of her funk, and given her something to work towards. Walking in on your girlfriend of three years being nailed by her supervisor in her office took its toll though, and Katya still didn’t know the true extent of the damage Rachel had caused her.

She squeezed Trixie’s hand before letting go, stubbing out what was left of her cigarette.

“It was a guy she worked with,” she continued, voice flat as she tried not to relive the scene that was burned into her brain. “A guy, can you believe that? The whole thing was fucking horrible, I won’t pretend it wasn’t. We had the fight to end all fights, and then she was gone. A few weeks later I found myself thinking about this place and how coming here was always the best part of my year as a kid. Now here I am - trying something new and moving into a house I desperately hoped was haunted as a child.” Trixie laughed.

“You’re still super weird, that’s good to see at least.”

Katya couldn’t keep herself from smiling. She’d always been able to make Trixie laugh - it had been one of her favourite things to do. It was nice to know she still had the touch.

For a good half an hour they just talked, easily falling into old rhythms. They knew snippets of each others lives thanks to social media, but it was great to be able to fill in the gaps. Katya told Trixie about her job - editing for online journals and papers, plus whatever work she could get as a translator. It wasn’t as stimulating as she had hoped at this stage of her life, but it paid the bills. Now she had a free place to live, Katya was seriously thinking about getting some of her own stuff published. Trixie was still working on her music - playing guitar at local gigs and teaching kids from the local schools - an idea that Katya found almost unbearably wholesome and adorable. She vaguely found herself wondering if Trixie was seeing anyone, then hated herself a little bit for feeling relieved when Trixie made a self-deprecating joke about being terminally single.

‘Childhood best friend’, She reminded herself. ‘Childhood best friend who doesn’t need your messed up, Super-Lesbian self ruining her life with your fucked up issues .’

Besides, she was at least ninety-nine point nine percent sure Trixie was straight. She’d seen pictures of old boyfriends, and part of her hoped that if that wasn’t the case, Trixie would have said something to her by now. After all, Trixie had been the first person Katya had come out to when she was a baby lesbian working herself out. She remembered writing that letter like it was yesterday.

Katya was a little bit surprised to hear that Trixie had decided to stay in Bronte after high school. As a kid she had always had so many dreams - travel, fame, moving somewhere far away from this small town. On the upside, Trixie knew everything to know about everyone in Bronte, regaling Katya with stories that had them snorting and giggling like old times. She had developed a surprisingly dark sense of humor, and Katya found herself snickering to herself at Trixie’s impressions of people or dry way of explaining things. She was witty, smart, and somehow sweet at the same time. Despite how close they once were, Katya couldn’t quite figure her out. She wanted to, very badly.

When the sun was getting dangerously low in the sky, Katya stretched. She didn’t want to stop talking to Trixie, but she also didn’t rate her chances of finding the farmhouse in the dark.

“I should probably head off,” she said with a regretful look, stubbing out her final cigarette.

Trixie stood with a laugh, looking around them.

“Wow, where did the time go?” she asked as she realised how late it was getting. “I’m sorry, I’ve been talking your ear off. I should head back to work anyway, I’m supposed to be helping Irene with stock-take. She’s a great cook, but she can’t find her way around any computer made after nineteen-ninety-seven.”

Katya grinned.

“It’s been amazing to catch up,” she said simply, sliding her cigarettes into the back pocket of her jeans. Standing, she pulled Trixie into a last hug before pulling back to look at her.

“I missed you a lot, Trix,” she said softly. Trixie smiled at her again, eyes wide and shining, and Katya couldn’t do a damn thing about the sudden flip flop in her belly.

“I missed you so much, Kat,” Trixie said back. “I’m glad you’re back,”

Katya lit up a final cigarette, watching Trixie walk away and giving her a small wave when she looked back and smiled. Katya’s eyes drifted to the blonde’s shapely form before she could stop herself, and she chewed on her lip.

“Well, fuck.” she said softly to herself, taking a deep drag. Shaking her head, she headed back to the car.

*

The sun had almost set by the time Katya drove down a long, slightly familiar country road. The sky was dappled hues of pink, orange and blue, the beauty of the southern sunset both impressing Katya, and instilling her with a slight sense of despair. She was so far from home - be it Boston or New York. Steeling herself, Katya made a turn down a long drive, open fields on each side and a large house in view.

Her new home.

The moving van had already been and gone, dropping off what few possessions Katya had decided to bring with her. It wasn’t much - whatever furniture she actually needed, a few personal things that she’d felt a sentimental connection to. Not much at all, considering how much she had owned before she left New York. After the breakup an impressive amount of her things had gone to Goodwill, anyway. Too many of her possessions reminded her of Rachel.

Katya took in the house as she slowly drove up the gravel driveway. It looked the same as she remembered it - as close to her patchy memories as it could be anyway. White, two-storey, a covered deck wrapping around the front and left side of the house. The paint had faded since she was last here, she noticed, and the flowers that always grew around the bottom of the deck had been replaced by weeds.

Katya swallowed down a sudden ball of emotion. She had spent some of the best weeks of her life here, and seeing it again brought up a mix of memories and repressed feelings. This was the last place her parents had really been happy before the divorce, the last place she had felt like she had a functional family unit. Stevie would read stories to her and Annie as they all sat out on the deck, the kids drinking sweet tea or soda, the adults getting tipsy on the same tea spiked with a splash of Jack Daniels.

She sat in the car for a good fifteen minutes before she got the courage to step out.

*

The door squeaked as it swung open, and Katya fumbled for the light switch. Considering how long the house had been unoccupied, Katya was surprised to see it was in relatively good shape. The odd cobweb here and there, a thin layer of dust settling over window sills and mantle… all in all it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as she expected it to be.

Hauling the rest of her things out of the car, Katya set about doing a quick clean. Thankfully the moving guys had followed her instructions to the letter regarding where things went, and she didn’t have to worry about getting her furniture up to the bedrooms.

She had to admit, it was strange seeing her things in the master bedroom that had always been full of Stevie’s things. Her aunt had been… the best way of describing it was a retired hippie. This room had always been full of tie-dyed wall hangings, drapey fabrics, clothes that smelled of lavender or Jasmine (and as Katya learned when she was thirteen - weed). Stevie had kept to herself, using the land around the farmhouse to keep horses and grow walnut trees. When Katya was little some of the local kids had asked her if Aunt Stevie was a witch. Katya had immediately said yes, making Trixie shriek with laughter.

Katya caught sight of herself in a mirror propped up on a set of drawers. Grinning at her reflection - hair a mess from the humidity, red lipstick still holding strong - Katya cocked her head. Maybe it was time for her to be the crazy witch in the farmhouse.

Unpacking as much as she could bring herself to after a long day of driving, Katya found the box with her bedding and towels. Making up her bed with crisp white sheets and a deep red comforter she knew would be thrown off in the night heat, she headed into the bathroom.

She was sore and sweaty, and the stale, humid air was doing nothing to help.

Tuning the taps, Katya let out a low moan as the lukewarm water hit her aching muscles. She was completely exhausted. The day had been emotionally tiring as well as physically, and she wanted nothing more than to switch her brain off, shower and crawl into bed. Instead, she found her mind wandering to a certain blonde.

Katya had dreamed up multiple disaster scenarios when it came to this move.

An intense, instantaneous attraction to her former best friend had not been one of them.

Just thinking about the time she’d spent with Trixie that day made her breathless. Since the shit show that was her breakup, Katya hadn’t had any desire to date or even go looking for casual sex. She had been starting to wonder if she would ever feel like that about someone again. While it was a slight relief to realize she wasn’t broken beyond repair, the circumstances could be far better. Trixie was most likely never going to reciprocate any feelings Katya might have. They had just found each other again after years of separation.

The last thing Katya needed to do was fuck up what was probably the best friendship she was ever going to have by falling for Trixie.

Even so, she couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Trixie was so far from Katya’s usual type that it was laughable - feminine, sweet, her childhood affinity for pink obviously still obvious. None of that seemed to matter though. Trixie’s smile, her infectious laugh, her to-die-for curves - it all amounted to a woman who had captured Katya’s attention faster than anyone had in her life.

She was in trouble.

The best Katya could do at that moment was put her sudden crush (are you a pathetic teenager, Zamolodchikova?) down to the emotion of the move…and her sheer happiness at seeing Trixie again. Stepping out of the shower, she shoved it deep down in her mental ‘to deal with tomorrow’ pile.

Drying herself off, Katya slipped into a black t-shirt and black cotton underwear. Sleepily making one last round of the house to turn out the lights, she couldn’t help but feel a calm relief at the absolute silence around her.