#trinityweek

“God dammit.” 

She tosses the phone on to her bed, and flops back. A horde of butterflies are making her stomach tremble and quake, and god, she hates being so nervous. Her hand traces her tattoo softly: the swelling has gone down and the redness has faded, Hannah’s aftercare instructions proving excellent. Grace almost wishes she’d contracted an infection, just to have an excuse to go see her. 

Instead of making this phone call. 

A banging of the door comes from the front, and Grace starts, hands flying up to her hair in all its curly bedhead glory. Seconds later, Mamrie stomps through her room, heaving a great, shuddering sigh before crashing next to Grace. 

“I swear to motherfucking Jesus, the holidays at the bar are the absolute worst, I wanted to kill this one guy…” 

Mamrie begins to ramble on about bad tippers and disgusting holiday drinks, and Grace prays that she won’t notice that Grace hasn’t changed since this morning - hasn’t showered either - and has the “I’m too nervous to call this person I really like and have been thinking about it nonstop” look written all over her. 

“…and I told Josh, I’m going to quit, okay, I’m really going to do it this time if I don’t get a goddamn raise -” Mamrie pauses suddenly, turning her head to survey Grace suspiciously. “Grace, please don’t tell me that while I was busting my ass at work that you spent eight hours not calling this Hannah person.” 

“No!” Grace cringes. “I mean, maybe. But…what if…” 

“There are no ifs or buts or maybes, Gracie, she gave you her number so clearly she doesn’t hate your guts. It isn’t because she’s a girl, is it?” 

Grace shakes her head, because no, she’s been comfortable with her bisexuality since she was seventeen, but Hannah is the type of girl she’d never even talk to in a bar, the type of person that makes the future feel full of twists and shadows, never clear enough to predict. Grace isn’t used to taking the initiative, ever. 

“Okay.” With that, Mamrie snatches up her phone from behind her head and punches in the numbers, hitting send before tossing it at Grace. “Now you’re calling her.” 

“What the hell, Mamrie!” She presses the phone to her ear, the dial tone causing a panic in her chest. 

“You’ve waited so long even I’ve memorized that stupid note. You’re welcome.” 

Mamrie leaves, and Grace flips her off retrospectively. She could still hang up, she hasn’t rehearsed enough what she’s going to say if - 

“Hello?” 

The familiarity of Hannah’s voice feels like a rush of warmth.

“Oh, hi, um, sorry, this is Grace? From the tattoo parlor?” 

“Grace Helbig.” Hannah sounds like she’s smirking. “Took you long enough, yeah?” 

“I know, god, I’m terrible at things like this.” 

“What, you mean talking on the phone?” 

“No.” Grace cradles the phone close. Her legs are trembling. “Asking people out.” 

“Oh.” Hannah pauses. “Well, allow me then. Would you like to go on a date with me, miss Helbig?” 

There’s almost a tremble in her voice, which is too endearing, really, so Grace says yes without a second thought. Her heart is beating fast and loud; she’d be surprised if Hannah couldn’t hear it through the telephone. They make plans to meet up, tomorrow, and Grace says goodbye reluctantly, because she’d just then garnered enough courage to maintain a conversation. 

A click, and Grace flops back one more time, a stupid grin spreading across her face. 

“It paid off, didn’t it, ya idiot?” Mamrie shouts from the kitchen, and Grace doesn’t retaliate, because it did, it really did. 

***

In her mind, she is re-evaluating her wardrobe choices. 

Is the same blue dress too obvious? Her old rumpled coat covers most of it, but the trim is peaking out, over wobbling knees clad in silky tights. Brooklyn is so, so cold this time of year, the slushy flurries of snow on the sidewalks requiring knee high boots and the icy city breezes blunted only by gloves and woolen beanies and scarves. It’s almost ridiculous how many clothes she’s wearing , and she just knows her nose is pink and swollen and - 

Oh. She sees Hannah now, back against the lanterns that are straight out of Narnia. Hannah herself seems a bit fantastical, her blue hair combed to the right neatly, leather jacket and ripped jeans sending a ripple of heat down Grace’s spine. There’s a lumpy knapsack by her combat boots, and Grace wants to pinch herself, just to make sure this is real, that she’s going on a real life date with probably the most intimidating girl she’s ever met. 

She trudges through the snow, across the quiet, cobbled street, and over behind Hannah. The other girl’s shoulders tighten briefly, and Grace can just make out the hint of a smile on the corner of her lips. 

“Sneaking up on me, Helbig?” 

Her cheeks flushing, she bumps Hannah’s shoulder awkwardly and regrets it immediately. 

“Oh - oh god, I’m sorry, yes, I guess kind of -”

“Hey.” Hannah’s gloved hand, the fingertips missing and her nails painted a chipped black, grabs her own gently. “It’s cool, it was cute.” 

Grace stares at their interlaced hands; her skin feels like a lit match, burning closer and closer to the bone - perhaps this girl will consume her, for if any person were able set fire to another, she feels sure it would be Hannah. They seem so close together, just in this moment of breathing, and she can see the freckle on Hannah’s nose, pink flush sliding down from the tip to her cheeks. 

“Okay,” she says quietly, and tightens her grip. Hannah’s chapped lips curve up, her other hand reaching up to tuck a wayward curl behind Grace’s ear. 

“I don’t think you have quite enough clothes on,” Hannah teases her, warm breath leaving puffs of white in the air, still so close that the air between them feels static. “Which is a shame because you’ll need them when you fall down at least fifty times at the ice rink.” 

Grace huffs out an indignant scowl as Hannah bends, picking up her bag to sling it over one shoulder. Her stomach flutters when she doesn’t release her hand, and it feels a bit like a dream when Hannah tugs her down the street.

“You know, fifty times is an understatement. I’m the clumsiest person in the world.” 

“Shit, are you serious?” 

“Well, excuse me, we can’t all be skating geniuses - oh my god, you totally play roller derby, don’t you.” 

It’s Hannah who bumps her shoulder this time, hard. 

*** 

Brooklyn is beautiful during the holidays. 

They’ve left Main at the edge of early evening, rosy gray light filtering down over the buildings. Cement and brick are softened by their snowy white caps, and more flakes are beginning to drift, resting on Grace’s nose and hair. The trees are wrapped in twinkling lights, city noises muffled by the blanket of snow and the peace of the season. She feels content, her nerves having gradually trickled away, replaced by a bubbly warmth akin to being buzzed on champagne. 

Hannah is humming in the peaceable silence, eyes flicking upward to the strands of lights, snowflakes catching on her eyelashes. Their hands are still laced together, and every so often Grace feels Hannah’s hands tremble slightly, as if she’s not quite sure that Grace is there. She wonders, again, if Hannah’s tough exterior is a way to cope, to establish a place in a world that seems vast and hostile and frightening, sometimes. 

“Hey.” Her voice is raspy, and she coughs, clearing it. 

“Yeah?” Hannah turns, looking at her directly - as she seems to do unfailingly, her vividly blue eyes bright and interested. 

“Where are you taking me? I think you’re horribly lost if you’re looking for Rockefeller.” 

Hannah rolls her eyes pointedly. “As if I’d take a bona fide New Yorker to Rockefeller. Nah, I know a place.”

They take a quick right, and Grace sees a park ahead, lights glimmering through the dusky trees and a soft crooning detectable under the rumble of traffic from downtown. There’s a skip in Hannah’s step, and she tugs Grace along, crossing the street with barely a glance. Her whole face is lit up, pink nose and chapped lips and all, and Grace feels her heart flutter: seeing someone be in love with anything invites her into an intimacy that makes her chest burn, in a painfully beautiful way. 

The cheerful elderly woman at the gate appears to know Hannah, rushing out of her kiosk to envelop her in a hug. 

“Hannah, darling! Who’s your friend?” 

“Oh.” Hannah shoots Grace a small smile. “This is Grace, she’s a skating virgin. Grace, this is Mrs. B.” 

Mrs. B laughs at Grace’s paled face, and pulls her into a hug before Grace can establish her prickly defensive. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. Any friend of Hannah is always welcome here. And it’s on the house, Hannah, really. Head on in.” 

Hannah thanks her, with another hug, and Grace follows her into the gate. She misses the warmth of Hannah’s hand instantly, and shoves her own deep into her pockets.  Hannah leads her over to a bench, behind which lies a tiny ice rink, lit only by a few lanterns and the twinkle of a Christmas tree. The rink is abandoned, ice shiny and slick. Even Grace, in all her clumsiness, feels a ripple of excitement at the sheer newness. 

“It’s really a labor of love.” Hannah says, noticing the direction of Grace’s gaze. “Mrs. B just does it for the few regulars. Like me. Here,” she tosses a pair of skates next to Grace’s feet. “You’re a size 9, right?” 

“I find it slightly creepy that you know that.” Grace pulls off her boots and slips on the skates. A perfect fit. She begins to do up the laces, and Hannah shrugs. 

“I have a good eye.” She leans forward, warm breath brushing against Grace’s exposed neck. “And I knew, when you walked in, that I wanted to take you here. So I looked.” 

Grace blushes. “I looked like a nervous giraffe.” 

“It was cute. I liked it - how innocent you were about it all. I don’t see people like you come in every day.” Hannah presses her shoulder up against her, slick leather on warm cotton; her hand comes up to tug on one of Grace’s wayward curls. “And I liked your hair.” 

Hannah’s voice is low and warm like chocolate, making a shiver race down Grace’s back. Her nerves are on edge, each moment with this girl feeling like a mystery. The kind Grace wants to solve. 

But Hannah pushes herself to her feet, skates already assembled, and reaches out. “Ready to get your ass kicked, Helbig?” 

*** 

It’s definitely her ass that gets the kicking. 

Hannah is zooming around the ice, gracefully, knees bent and close. She looks like she was born here, born for this elegant gliding and curving, a partnership with the water beneath. But Grace - is not. She’s fallen three times already, stuttering around the rink awkwardly. Hannah laughed the first time, reaching down a hand to help her up. Grace laughed with her, not minding her own clumsiness; it’s something she’s become accustomed to, something she likes to make fun of in her comedy sketches with Mamrie. She’s just enjoying the way Hannah tilts her head back, just so, as if she can see the stars beyond the haze of branches and city smog. 

Hannah skates over, slipping her hand into Grace’s shyly. “Enjoying the Mariah Carey music?” 

“Definitely. It’s so festive. Extra festive.” 

Hannah giggles. It’s a sweet sound coming from her lips, and Grace feels a sudden urge to taste it, to cover Hannah’s mouth with her own, just to see. There’s a shyness in Hannah’s eyes as she curves in front of Grace, grabbing her other hand. 

“Here, I’ll help. Just…push back and to the side, One foot after the other.” 

Grace begins to form an uneven rhythm, stuttering only a bit. Hannah’s hands feel good, steadying, as if they’d catch her without a second thought. 

“Hey, I’m sorry if this isn’t fun, I had no idea you didn’t skate -”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Hannah, I think it’s wonderful, so -”

“Really? I had this elaborate plan about this romantic evening with lights and hot chocolate and music and everything.” 

“You do romance?” Grace teases her. She likes this heady feeling of power, of influencing Hannah. “Besides, I’m lactose-intolerant.” 

“Yes, I do romance, and seriously? My plan really is failing.” 

Grace laughs, and squeezes Hannah’s hands. “Really? Because I kind of think it’s working.” 

*** 

They end up getting hot chocolate, anyway. Mrs. B runs into the tiny shed and procures some soy milk, pouring them both flimsy foam cups of steaming liquid. Sprinkling them liberally with marshmallows, she claims that it will help with the blasphemy of the soy milk. Hannah tips her, for that. 

Grace cups the warm cup in her gloved hands, blowing softly. Their skates are tucked safely back into Hannah’s bag, after Hannah promised to give them to her despite Grace’s protesting. Mrs. B gave them more hugs on the way out, whispering “thank you” in Grace’s ear fervently. Grace felt the words catch in her chest, worming their way into her heart. 

She likes the idea that she’s good for Hannah, because Hannah feels good - so good - for her. 

Evening has fallen fast as they walk back. There is a smear of whipped cream on Hannah’s nose, right on top of her freckle, and Grace is torn between wiping it off and leaving it, because Hannah looks so innocent under these colorful lights. Grace’s guard is falling, quickly: she hopes Hannah’s is too. 

The snow has continued to coat Brooklyn in a layer of white silence. When the bridge comes into sight, Grace’s heart feels a bit sore, at the prospect of the night ending. 

“Hey.” Hannah sounds tentative. “Can I, maybe, walk you home?” 

“I’d love that.” She smiles shyly. “I live just a few blocks from here.” 

Grace feels words building in her throat, but none of them feel quite right. She wants to ask where Hannah was born, her favorite color, the type of music that makes her hips sway just right. She wants to know every thing that Hannah holds close to her heart and every person that has made her feel alive. She wants to know her. 

Her apartment building comes too quickly, and the words are lost on her tongue. She can see a light on in their fifth floor apartment, the prospect of Mamrie and television and takeout comforting. This time, she grabs Hannah’s hand and tugs her toward the steps. 

“This is it.” She looks down, scuffling her feet. “I had a really nice time, you know.” 

“I’m glad.” Hannah’s other hand reaches, tipping her chin back so Grace can meet her gaze. She feels lost, swimming in a sea of crystal blue. “I know you said not to apologize, but I really would have thought of something different if -”

Grace leans forward, quick and fluttering, swallowing Hannah’s words clumsily. Her lips meet chapped ones, warm and sweet - Hannah’s hands come up, fingertips cold on Grace’s burning cheeks. Her lips part, just so, and Grace is so, so warm, a bubble of giddiness growing and growing until it pops. And her skin feels lit from within, she swears she must be glowing, because this feels like Hannah’s name has been written all over her body in fairy lights. 

Her hands grasp, at anything, just to feel grounded when Hannah pulls back, before kissing her again. Quickly, softly, as if Grace is something that would fracture or disappear. 

“Wow.” Hannah breathes. They break into identical smiles; a silence stretches, full of so much that no words feel quite right. Grace speaks first. 

“I think - maybe I’ll go now, but I’m going to need those skates sometime, so.” 

Hannah’s smile is breathtaking. “I’ll call you?” 

“You’d better.” 

She watches as Hannah turns, a blush creeping over her cheeks. She watches her move further away into the snow, hands deep in pockets, head tilted back. Looking at the imaginary stars. 

And she feels warm again, even in the chill of a winter night, and presses her palm to the tattoo on her ribs, cocooned by that soft blue dress. Perhaps it’s her good luck charm, the intersection of fate and coincidence and reality. She can, after all, still taste Hannah on her lips, still feel the ghost of her hands on her skin. 

It’s altogether too much, but she doesn’t think that it will ever be enough. 

*** 

The last time they saw each other, it didn’t go well. There were fighting and shouting and hurt feelings. It was the first time she saw Grace really speak her mind. She would have been so proud if she wasn’t at the end of those words. She spent countless sleepless nights after that fight tossing and turning, thinking if she should call. But after a month, she realized that Grace didn’t feel the same way. She looked at her videos and Grace looked happy and fine while she on the other hand had lost weight with dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t want to but she had to move on. What’s the use of hanging on to someone who doesn’t want to stay? And now fast forward to three years and she’s in the same room, albeit a very large room, with Grace. It threw her off a loop. Should she go to her and say hi? Should she just leave? If they cross paths, should she ignore her or smile at her or shout at her?

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Hannah whispered to herself. It’s been three years. This shouldn’t affect her. So with a determined look, Hannah marched over to where Grace was standing. She’ll prove to Grace, to anyone, and most importantly to herself that she really has moved on. She was about to tap Grace’s shoulder when a look of horror crossed her face. Then without a sound, she ran.

Grace POV

She was walking past the toy store when she saw Hannah inside. It has been more than three years since she last saw her. Yes, she saw her videos and Instagram pics and twitter post but they were all from behind the safety of the internet. This was the first time she saw her in real life after THE fight.

She followed her inside without really any thought of what she’ll do when they do face each other. So she decided to just stalk her. She was trying to go unnoticed when someone bumped into her.

“Watch it!” She wasn’t able to stop herself. Now she’s worried. What if Hannah saw her or heard her? But when she turned around, Hannah was nowhere in sight. Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked slowly to the last place she saw Hannah. Then her phone rang. She ignored it. But then it rang again. Annoyed, she answered it. Her boyfriend was looking for her and wanting to know if she needs him to get her. He was his usual sweet self but Grace wasn’t in the mood.     

“No. I said I’ll be there in an hour. Goodbye.” Without waiting for another word, she ended the call. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Hannah peeking. So she did the only thing that she can think of. She faced the other way and pretended to examine the toy in front of her. She felt Hannah staring at her. And the images of that night ran through her mind again. She doesn’t like confrontation and she avoids it like a plague. But that night, she let it all out. She surprised herself. And when it was over, she felt terrible. What does she do in this type of situations? She repressed it and she was very good at it. On the rare occasions when she couldn’t control her feelings, she stared at the phone willing it to ring. But it never did. Not from the one who mattered. So they drifted. And now she’s here. She shouldn’t care but she did.

She then felt someone behind her. She knew with hundred percent certainty that it was Hannah. Slowly she turned around… just in time to see Hannah bolt from the store.

Fight or Flee? Should she wait another three years? What if there’s no next time? What were the chances that they’d be in the same city where they were not supposed to be? And it’s Christmas. IT’S CHRISTMAS.  With that thought, Grace hurried outside. Frantically, she looked around, looking for clues as to where Hannah went. And then she found her. Their eyes met. Not breaking the contact, Grace walked over to where Hannah was standing.

“Dude.” Hannah said as a greeting. Her eyes starting to redden. Then totally out of character, Grace went in for a hug. A very tight hug. A very long and tight hug. When they parted, both were smiling, the last three years forgotten.  

THE END