Chapter 7 The Farm
Calliope groaned at the sound of the alarm going off—Stray Kids telling her to just Do It. She didn’t know what it was, but she was going to pretend it meant rolling onto her stomach and kicking her feet like a toddler. So she did, adding a loud, dramatic whine just for some extra spice.
She flopped once more for emphasis, face mashed into the pillow, before finally admitting defeat.
She wanted to be a morning person so badly.
She wanted to pop out of bed like Lola, all bright-eyed and ready to manifest a great day but the sun was her enemy.
So she had resigned herself to faking it til she made it.
Maybe with enough early mornings, she could trick her body into thinking it liked being up before brunch hours started.
She finished her morning tantrum, then slapped at her phone until it shut up.
She rubbed her eyes, blinking against the gray winter light seeping in around the edges of the curtains, then threw off the covers with a heavy sigh.
She’d thought her forties would have made her feel like an adult—or at least an adultier adult.
But most days she still felt like a kid playing dress-up, pretending she had her shit together.
Maybe that was just the curse of their generation, raised as latch-key kids on dial-up internet and existential dread, now expected to own property and have opinions about grout.
Okay, she had opinions about grout, but she had opinions about everything.
So, that didn’t make her an adult, just annoying.
The wind whistled outside, low and constant, rattling against the old farmhouse in a way that felt familiar now rather than threatening.
It was colder than a witch’s tit out there, no question about it.
Lola was likely already up, already moving, already getting the coffee going with that quiet efficiency that made Calliope both deeply grateful and mildly resentful before caffeine.
Most mornings, Calliope stumbled out of bed looking like a kitten someone fished out of a storm gutter while her wife looked like she belonged in a commercial for glossy women’s vitamins or expensive granola.
It seemed like a waste to take a shower when she was just going to get messy in the barn feeding the animals, but she needed to shake off sleep and warm up from the inside out.
The cold had a way of settling into her bones lately, and hot water was one of the few things that could chase it away completely.
She stripped down as she let the water heat, catching her reflection in the fogging mirror.
She took a second to really look at herself, at the body she’d earned.
She’d put on about thirty pounds over the years, but they’d settled in the right places, softening her in ways that felt earned rather than accidental.
As a teen mom to a budding psychopath and a hacker to Thomas Mulvaney, she’d lived on ramen and boxed mac & cheese for a very long time, every extra dollar shoved into savings for Dimitri.
Just in case. Just in case the world collapsed.
Just in case she needed to run. Just in case her son needed something she couldn’t predict yet.
Like bail money and a solid defense attorney.
Survival had been the priority back then. Comfort came much later.
Now she had her own place. Land. Goats that screamed like demons and chickens with more personality than most people. She grew her own food, baked her own bread, fortified her home with firewalls and physical barriers in equal measure. And she was going to enjoy the fruits of her labor, damn it.
She stepped under the spray and groaned, shoulders sagging as the heat soaked into her muscles, washing the chill away inch by inch.
Steam curled around her, the scent of soap and clean water filling the space.
She knew she needed to actually grab the soap, but for a long moment she just stood there, eyes closed, letting herself exist without thinking.
Down the hall, a very pregnant Cricket was still sleeping. Lola was probably cooking. Dimitri was likely eating while Arlo begged Lola to let him help, offering suggestions and immediately apologizing for them.
Calliope smiled to herself.
It was kind of ironic that the boy who’d started her entire journey with the Mulvaneys was the same boy her son ended up with. A strange, circular kind of fate. The universe loved its loops, apparently.
She was so deep in her head that she jumped when the shower door slid open and Lola stepped in behind her, warm hands settling on her hips like they belonged there. Because they did.
Calliope turned, startled breath turning into a soft laugh when she took her in.
Unlike Calliope, Lola didn’t have a single wrinkle.
Not one single crow had stepped foot on her gorgeous face.
Her ebony skin was smooth and satiny, catching the light in a way that made it look like it glowed even through the steam.
The bright orange shower cap protecting her twists made her look like some kind of Senegalese goddess who had decided, inexplicably, to marry a feral hacker and move to a farm in the middle of bum fuck nowhere.
Calliope reached for her automatically, palms sliding over familiar curves, grounding herself in the simple, undeniable fact of her wife being right there and all hers.
“Where are the others?” Calliope asked.
Lola smiled. “Why? Do you want to invite Cricket to join us?”
Calliope rolled her eyes, but smiled too. “I don’t think we’re her type.”
“I don’t think anyone is her type,” Lola said dryly.
Calliope pressed Lola to the wall, who hissed at the cold tile kissing her bare skin. Lola glowered at her, but there was no real heat behind it, only familiarity, the kind that came from years of knowing exactly what the other was about to do.
“I’ve got my hands full with you,” Calliope murmured, her mouth finding Lola’s.
Lola hummed into the kiss, lips parting, tongue sliding inside in a dance they’d performed thousands of times.
It was muscle memory and comfort and want all tangled together, easy in a way that only came from trust. She’d taken one look at Lola and had claimed her like she was a Mulvaney.
If Lola had agreed, Calliope would have had a U-Haul outside her house before she could finish saying yes.
She’d been all in on day one. No, minute one.
Lola, on the other hand, had taken a little time to come around.
She’d liked the sex just fine. She’d liked it enough to fly back and forth from the West to the East coast just to get it.
But she’d enjoyed being a bounty hunter too, chasing down bad guys, sometimes fucking those same bad guys.
She hadn’t wanted to settle down or give up the life she’d built brick by brick.
Calliope hadn’t cared whether she stayed a bounty hunter or not. She’d just wanted her to stay close.
It took a series of very fortunate events for that to happen, the first being Lola’s only friend—Aiden—moving home to finally be with Thomas.
But it wasn’t until Lola agreed to donate her eggs to Felix and Avi and Calliope had agreed to act as a surrogate for Thomas and Aiden, that they’d gotten close.
Living-in-the-same-house close. Injecting-hormones-every-day close.
Learning-each-other’s-breaking-points close and eventually Calliope-going-through-morning-sickness-in-her-late-thirties close.
They’d had to lean on each other in ways no man would ever understand.
They’d been through a lot together.
They kissed lazily for a bit, hands roaming, the steam curling around them as the water beat a steady rhythm against the tile. But when it started to edge toward something heavier, Calliope pulled back with a soft groan.
“If I don’t stop now, we won’t stop,” she said, resting her forehead against Lola’s. “And I still have to feed the animals. Including the one I birthed.”
As if summoned, Dimitri’s voice echoed down the hall. “Stop making out with your wife and make me breakfast—ow. Ow—please.”
Calliope and Lola both laughed. The sound cut through the steam like sunlight, easy and warm. Arlo had no doubt slapped or pinched him for talking to her like that. That was why Arlo was her favorite. Not really. She loved them both equally. She was proud of them both. They had both come so far.
“These kids have the worst timing,” Calliope said with a sigh.
“If it makes you feel better,” Lola said, reaching for a towel, “I already fed the animals.”
Calliope blinked. “You didn’t have to do that. It was my day.”
“I know,” Lola said. “But I was already up, and it’s Christmas Eve, and I wanted to do something small for you.”
Calliope shook her head, smiling as she leaned in to steal another lazy kiss. “I don’t know how I ever dated men when there were women like you around.”
“To be fair, you hadn’t met me yet,” Lola said. “Besides, I slept with my fair share of undeserving men before I met you. And what do you mean ‘women like me?’ There are no other women like me. You scored an original. I’m one of a kind, bay-bee.”
“My very own 24 karat gold Labubu,” Cricket teased in a grating British accent.
Lola rolled her eyes, wrapping the towel around herself. “I’m gonna start confiscating your laptop at night. You’re starting to sound a little too ‘chronically online’ for my taste. And Labubus are ugly. There I said it.”
“But mom, you can’t take my laptop,” she whined, eyes dragging across her wife’s perfect breasts which were currently spilling over her blue towel in a way that had her wanting to lick her lips. “I need it for my homework…and porn.”
“I hope you never looked at your mom the way you’re looking at me right now,” Lola murmured. “And I’m not sure I’m ready to explore that particular fetish. Especially when you’re older than me.”
Calliope clutched her chest. “Ouch, and I was gonna make you breakfast and everything.”