#millenialcore

When the both of you reach your car, she’s the first one to speak. “Keys?” She asks, voice nothing more than a slight murmur. She doesn’t meet your eyes, gaze flitting from the ground to Ava.

“Purse.” You whisper, displaying an equal amount of tender care to not wake your daughter.

When you first arrived at Sevika’s house, you forgot to unhook your car keys before she placed Ava in your arms. It isn’t common that your daughter is sleeping when you pick her up. But the two of you know that it’s always better to not disrupt her slumber during changeovers. 

You shift your body so that your left shoulder is facing Sevika, displaying the faded red purse that sits on your shoulder. 

For a few seconds, you find yourself searching for the moment that Sevika comes in contact with you. Surely an accidental graze of the skin or shifting of your purse would be a telltale sign of her presence. But instead you encounter nothing but stillness. She somehow manages to unclip your carabiner of keys with grace, careful not to make much noise. Careful not to touch you.

Surrounding trees bustle in the wind while she unlocks your car. She opens the backdoor quietly, watching Ava with fond eyes. Your daughter doesn’t stir.

It’s an all familiar rhythm–the way that you and Sevika work to place Ava into her carseat. Sevika is always thorough in buckling her in; double checking the snugness of the straps, triple checking the buckle placements and that the seat is anchored. You start the car and roll down all the windows, so that fresh air wafts throughout the vehicle for your daughter. Then you pull your keys out of the ignition and clip them against one of your belt loops. Silently, you step outside of the car and close the driver door. Sevika whispers a quiet goodbye to Ava, kissing the child on the cheek before joining you.

“How was she?” You ask.

“Fine.”

“Did you remember to sing to her while tuckin-”

“Yes.” Her voice is curt.

“...And the candy.” You continue. Within the last few weeks, you noticed that Ava had been asking about candy frequently, in which she admitted that Mama (Sevika) always has. After talking to Sevika about it, you both had come to an agreement that nutritious meals weren’t being prioritized. Sevika did not hesitate to assure you that changes would be made. 

So did you have any reason to be pestering her about it weeks later? You could probably come up with a bullshit excuse. But you have to admit that the necessity of it is useless. Just like your desire to remind her about Ava’s bedtime routine and all the other bickering you’ve instigated during changeovers in the past. 

“I know you like giving it to her,” You hate how bitter you sound. “But we agreed last time that she should not be excessively consuming it…so much that-”

“I’m capable of feeding her meals, you know.” Sevika’s jawline becomes visible then, eyes flashing. 

“With food that isn’t junk?” You regret the words right after they slip from your tongue. But it’s too late to backtrack.

“I don’t know if the divorce gave you memory loss but it seems I must remind you that our daughter, and you, never went a day without me cook–”

“Look, I’m just holding you accountable.”

Sevika’s nostrils flare. “If I had known that you would be in such a shit mood, I would have had–”

“Not in a shit mood at all.”

Her lips roll inwards, rubbing together and creating deep etches into her cheeks. She’s all fire–warmth emanating off of her and meeting you. You know that you’re on thin ice; probing and pushing her with no valid reason. There’s only so much that a human can take when interacting in the way that you two do. This has always been an issue. But it seems to have worsened over the years.

“Ava is well fed here. ” She finally responds. “...We take good care of her.”

And there it is–the clip of her words…the quiet storm that always seems to be creeping up on her whenever the both of you hold a conversation longer than a minute.

But it doesn’t hurt you like it used to. Because you find yourself lingering on the latter sentence she uttered…

We take good care of her.

Your eyebrow raises before you can help it, folded arms tightening around your chest. “We?” You mutter.

A simple word; one that a passerby wouldn’t bat an eye at.

But with you it holds weight and Sevika knows it does. 

It’s her well-kept weapon that she draws out during the moments where it seems to count the most. 

The insinuation is so small that it shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t annoy you. 

It’s been years, after all. It’s only natural for this to happen. 

But it does hurt and it does annoy you.

A small part of you fears that it always will.

Sevika looks directly at you for the first time today. Her eyes swirl with a turbulent grey that used to completely disembody you. In the past, when her gaze would meet you with such intensity, you would grab whatever limb of hers that you could. You would smile. You would pull her towards you until your breath mixed with hers. You would kiss her and you would wish to the Gods that she never looked at you any differently.

But that was then.

And this is now.

And you can’t stand those eyes–that stare. It’s too much. 

Too annoying. Too familiar. Too provoking.

Just like all the times before, the weight of her stare nearly causes your lungs to combust. You become aware of the beads of sweat sliding down your temples and the thick humidity dancing in the air. You force yourself to look away. 

“Are we circling back to this conversation?” Sevika rasps. “Again?”

Out of instinct, your eyes roll. “Depends. I’d like to know that you can feed our daughter without relying on–”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

“...I mean, if she’s like the housewife, or whatever, fine. That’s your business. Fuck who you want. But–”

“You’re relentless.”

“My mind would be much more at ease if I knew that you could spend quality time with our daughter, that you could love and care for her and feed her without the presence of your latest fuck swooping in and thinking that they can mother Ava better than–”

Abruptly, as if God herself was teasing you, a voice interjects with, “Honey!”

The source comes from meters away, right from the stairs that lead to Sevika’s porch. Hazel, Sevika’s latest girlfriend, waves at the pair of you. She’s clad in another one of her skin-tight activewear sets. It’s the kind that hugs every curve of her body. She’s a beautiful woman, always seeming as if she's just left a pilates class despite there being zero evidence of sweat or exhaustion on her face. Sevika has great taste. If you didn't know Hazel and spotted her at the bar, she would definitely be on your radar.

She’s sweet enough, never seeming to have any ill intent towards you (or Ava) whenever she graces your presence. But you’re still wary of her. 

You’re wary of all the girls that Sevika involves herself with.

Hazel winces as she walks across the front yard to meet the both of you. Her feet sport hot pink flip flops, which probably isn’t the best choice of footwear given the heaps of mud and wet soil.

“Has Hazel been with you the whole week?” You inquire, managing to keep your voice low enough so that only Sevika can hear.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“I need to know that my daughter is–”

“Bullshit.” Sevika’s weight shuffles beside you, the soles of her boots kicking nearby rocks. You don’t look at her. “I’m careful. I always will be. You know this.”

Hazel’s growing presence insinuates that this conversation will be coming to an end soon. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve badgered Sevika about Hazel. You wish that you could be the sort of ex that’s accepting of…all of this. You wish that you didn’t have to be the person that gets the last word–the one that’s desperate to injure her as much as you’ve been injured. You wish that your words didn’t turn to venom–that your questions didn’t bleed with accusations. 

But that isn’t realistic. Not after everything that’s occurred. 

However, you do know that you aren’t being reasonable. You could blame it on the fact that it’s been another week lost without your daughter, which always makes you feel crabby and in turn is causing you to lash out. You could blame it on the fact that you didn’t eat much today, caught up in the busyness of work, which is now catching up to you.

A multitude of reasons exist and are equally sound enough.

But it doesn’t matter. Because you’re out of line and you know it.

Sevika has always been a great mother. Despite the issues between you two, despite the messy divorce and the (oftentimes) heated coparenting, you know that she always puts Ava first. Sevika’s motherhood is a badge of honor that she’ll forever wear. That’s what made the two of you try for Ava, after all. 

“And the we thing,” Sevika adds. “It was me chatting shit. You annoy me with that…the nagging.”

“You’re so fucking petty,” You hiss. Despite the insult, you can’t help but laugh.

A few seconds of silence pass. Then, “I know you get anxious when Ava’s gone, but you know full well that I implement every single thing we talk about. And I’d appreciate if you could just trust me–”

Your lips are chapped and your tongue swipes them out of habit. A heavy sigh escapes you, muscles unspooling. “Sev,” You begin, eyes fluttering. “I get it. In the back of mind, I have no doubts that-”

“Babe, you didn't tell me that Ava was getting picked up today. I would have given her a hug.” Hazel interjects, reaching the both of you. She meets Sevika with a kiss on the cheek, before wrapping an arm around your ex’s waistline. Before Sevika can reply, Hazel turns to you. She flashes an award-winning smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see you,” She adds.

You wish you could be as saccharine. Instead, your mouth merely twitches.

“Hazel,” You greet.

Her smile falters for a millisecond, her eyes flash with something you struggle to discern. 

“Ava’s sleeping,” You continue. “But if you two haven't broken up by the time I drop her off next week, you can give her a hug then.”

More silence. It's awkward. It always is when Hazel comes around.

You catch Sevika’s gaze once more. She tongues her cheek, glaring at you with eyes of steel.

You’re being a bitch. 

Hazel clears her throat, not knowing what to say. 

You hate to admit that it seems like a victory somehow.

That’s when you open your car door, desperately wanting to escape.

You feel like you’re suffocating.

You ignore the (small) stomach drop in embarrassment at the way your door squeaks (when was the last time you greased the hinges?) and instead purse your lips.

“I can pick her up next week,” Sevika mutters. “I’ll be on that side of town anyways, so it’ll probably be easier.”

“Okay.”

You climb into your car, grimacing at the warm surface of your leather seats. You sit your purse down in the passenger seat, turning around to glance at Ava. She’s still sound asleep, shoulders rising and falling with each puff of air. The hard exterior of your heart momentarily fades. You’d do anything for her to forever be this peaceful.

Your engine rumbles as it turns on, the slight hum of the radio filling the speakers while you click your seatbelt into place. Meanwhile, you’re well aware that Hazel is already walking in the opposite direction towards the house. You’re well aware that this is because of you.

You make a mental note to bring up today’s events in your next therapy session.

Sevika lingers behind, approaching your car like a gloomy cloud on a sunny day.

“Whatever the fuck that was,” She snaps. “You don’t get to do it again.”

You hate that she’s right.

Your heart constricts and a lump in your throat begins to form. 

You hate her.

You hate everything about this.

“I get it,” You finally respond, swallowing thickly. “Sorry.”

“I’m serious,” She adds. “You don’t get to do this. Not after…” She trails off and you flinch. “I won’t deal with this shit.”

“Okay, Sev. I know. I’m sorry.” And you are. The overwhelming waves of guilt always seem to hit you when it’s too late.

Granted, Sevika isn’t innocent either. She’s far from innocent. But you know that even after everything that’s happened, you don’t have a right to be like this. She doesn’t deserve it. 

“I know you would like her if you tried.” This time, Sevika’s voice has lowered multiple degrees. There’s a slight plea in her voice. It only appears when she’s at her wits’ end. 

“Is she like,” Another deep breath. “...Is it serious with her?”

She doesn’t immediately answer. She first studies your face profoundly, as if she’s searching for any sign of disingenuous intent. 

You can’t help but notice how she smells–the familiar scent that surrounds you is something that you could practically identify in your sleep.

Sweat trickles down the sides of her face, down her neck, dampening the cloth of her tank top. Her shoulders gleam with a thin sheen of perspiration. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, away from her face, but a few tendrils have still managed to escape. 

The humidity has the same effect on you but you doubt you look as good as she does. 

And despite your familiarity with Sevika’s features, you notice that there’s something different about her. It’s become more visible within the last month.

Although her interactions towards you are consistently hostile, you have been able to detect the life in her gaze throughout the last few weeks. She frowns less. And her face is a bit slimmer; a telltale sign that she’s back in the gym.

From time-to-time, you find yourself scrolling through Sevika’s instagram. Usually her feed consists of posts that refer to her mother-daughter dates with Ava (although she’s adamant about not posting your daughter on the web). But there’s a picture in particular that’s been nagging you, in which Hazel is hanging off of Sevika’s side while they stand in front of a body-sized mirror that displays a public gym. 

The post has hundreds of likes, thanks to the popular presence that Sevika has online (even though she takes awkward selfies with cheesy captions). You’re sure that almost all sapphics that have access to the digital world are following her. Sevika is, undeniably, the most attractive person you’ve ever met.

So you aren’t shocked by the numerous comments on her latest post, calling her and Hazel extremely hot and couple goals and the ultimate gay awakening.

In fact, you hate that you agree with said comments.

You’re the complete opposite of Hazel, after all.

A gym date would have never been your reality during the marriage.

“Why can’t you just say that you’re happy for me?” Sevika asks. “That you wish me well?”

You should be able to say that.

Ideally, you should want that. 

You were childhood sweethearts after all; lovers for over a decade. Wives. 

And before everything got worse, before it all truly turned to shit, that’s what you both agreed on.

When the divorce was finalized and the split custody was granted, you two had vowed to still support each other–to still cheer each other on. To still be happy for one another. Because there was too much history, too many shared memories and years and it was all too important to just throw it away for the sake of being petty.

You don’t know how you both got so off-track.

You don’t know how everything completely dissipated in 3 years. 

You don’t know if you’d ever be able to fathom this outcome.

But as you sit there looking at Sevika, you do know that whatever she’s doing–it’s working for her. Whether it truly has something to do with Hazel, or whether she’s trying to turn a new leaf, it’s showing. She looks healthier. 

She looks happier.

Your eyes burn and begin to flutter. You clasp your hands together, squeezing them whilst they rest in your lap. 

Like always, she notices.

Her lips part, a simple action that calls your attention like blaring alarm bells. Her cupid's bow is quite pronounced, a tantalizing feature of her full lips. “Hey,” And she tilts her head, approaching closer. 

“Does she make you happy?”

There’s a glint of bewilderment in her eyes. She blinks slowly, shaking her head in a cautious manner. The seconds tick by with apprehension, as if the air itself is questioning your motives. “...I don’t…what?”

“Does she make you happy?”

Her brows furrow. You can hear how hollow her breathing is. She looks at you quizzically. “Hazel’s… good for me.”

You wait for her to say something more, anything at this point, but she doesn’t. 

Hazel’s good for me.

The wind picks up again, a cool breeze meeting your cheeks as nearby trees join the conversation with the sound of dancing leaves. 

Hazel’s good for me.

“Well,” The nails of your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms. “Then I’m happy for you.” A half truth. Your voice warbles but you're able to say it with enough conviction. “And I wish you well.”

Those eyes of hers…

They search and search and search.

You aren’t sure what she’s looking for.

You aren’t even sure why she’s reacting like this–or how you expect her to act after saying such a thing.

In fact–why did you say any of it? 

Almost as if Sevika bursts an imaginary bubble, she takes a step backwards. Then two. 

Subconsciously, your shoulders relax. It’s difficult to inhale air that reminds you of her.

She shakes her head slightly as she tears her eyes from you; as if she’s trying to recenter herself.

Your throat clears. The moment is gone. Reality reminds you of where you are and how you got here.

 “Take care, Sev.” Is all you can say.

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