Chapter 21
21
If Elsie doesn’t hold on to her anger, she’ll cry, and she refuses to cry in front of Ginny.
She is so fucking mad at them.
Because Elsie does know—she knows this week was more than Ginny doing whatever Elsie wanted to do, but Ginny has made it so she can’t be sure that’s true.
They don’t lie to each other. They’ve never lied to each other. They don’t even keep anything from each other. Sure, there have been things they didn’t talk much about—Elsie was never the type to gush about Derrick, and she was okay not knowing every explicit detail of Ginny’s dating life—but they’re open. They’re honest. They don’t quit their jobs and not tell the other one for more than a week.
How is Elsie supposed to trust Ginny now? What else have they kept from her?
It’s not that Elsie thinks Ginny didn’t want to sleep with her. Consent is obviously not an issue—they were both more than happy to do everything they did. But the reasons they wanted to matter . They matter to Elsie, anyway.
There’s nothing wrong with spending a week fucking someone because they’re hot and funny. But that’s not what Elsie was doing. She might not have admitted it at the beginning, but that was never what she was doing. This was never going to be sex without strings. There were always feelings behind it for Elsie.
So if, for Ginny, the feelings behind it were just that they wanted to make Elsie happy? Yeah, that fucking matters. Elsie needs Ginny in this as much as she is, but she doesn’t know how she could possibly trust them on that anymore.
Elsie said she doesn’t want to talk, and Ginny respects that. They double-check she has her passport, but that’s it. They’re silent in the resort shuttle to the airport, silent at the gate while they wait for their plane, silent when Elsie doesn’t hesitate to order a double vodka cranberry on the flight.
It’s apt, heading back to Minnesota like this—the color draining from the world around them like the life from their friendship. Even from the sky, the color palette changes. Nothing bright, no aqua or teal or golden sand beaches. Everything muted and gray. Elsie’s throat tightens. She closes her eyes but doesn’t sleep.
They land in Minneapolis two weeks—to the hour—after Elsie learned about the wedding. How is that possible? Harder still to comprehend, it’s been less than a week since they left. How, in the span of only six days and five nights, did Elsie go from recently single to fucking her best friend to falling for her best friend to single again?
Not that she really fell for Ginny this week—no, that’s been happening for over a decade. Elsie knew, intellectually. But she managed to avoid thinking about it for the most part. It’s embarrassing to look back and see every moment with clarity now. Once she had permission for her feelings, they were already there, had been there, had been obvious, even. When Ginny got her first girlfriend and Elsie thought the rock in her stomach was because she wanted one of her own, when they kissed just to see what it was like, when Ginny asked her to the dance and Elsie should’ve said yes. She wanted to say yes. When Ginny was considering going out of state for college—only to Wisconsin, but still—and Elsie had cried so hard she threw up.
So, it’s not that she fell in love with her best friend over a week; it’s that she believed it could work. She believed it was real. She’s so fucking mad at Ginny for making her think it could be real.
The whole trip was unreal, of course. A week away from anyone else, from anything else. It’s the same reason so many reality show couples don’t work out—a relationship in paradise is different than one in real life. It was easy, in the Caribbean, to live in the moment, without worrying about the future, or really even the present, besides what was right in front of them. It was just them, sex and sunshine and laughter. Nothing complicated. Anything felt possible.
But that’s not real life. In real life, Elsie has parents who have opinions on her love life. She has an ex who she still lives with for the time being, though he said he’d be elsewhere this weekend so she could pack. In real life, she gets a quarter-zip fleece out of her luggage at baggage claim. It’s not thick enough for the weather, but it’s all she has.
“I can—” It’s been so long since Ginny spoke, they have to clear their throat. “I can get the truck and pick you up.”
Elsie refuses to think that’s sweet, refuses to think they’re chivalrous, refuses to think the word gentleman at all.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says. “I’m fine.”
She gasps as they walk outside through the automatic doors, but she doesn’t change her mind. If it were yesterday, or last week, or even twelve hours ago, she would cling to Ginny for warmth. As it is, she zips her fleece to her chin and doesn’t look at them.
With the snowstorm while they were gone, there’s almost a foot of snow on the truck. Elsie stares at it. She has no capacity to deal with a practical issue, all her brainpower drained by the emotions of the day.
“I got it,” Ginny says.
They use their bare hand to clear enough snow to open the passenger door, offer Elsie the keys. Elsie manages a quiet thanks before climbing in and getting the heat started. She holds her fingers, pale and stiff with the cold, in front of the vents while Ginny gets the ice scraper out of the covered truck bed and loads their suitcases in. Elsie doesn’t think about their conversation about Derrick and his truck, doesn’t think about how good Ginny is at taking care of her, doesn’t think about the five stages of grief, denial and anger and depression all at once.
“Where am I taking you?” Ginny asks from the driver’s seat once the truck is cleared of snow. They blow on their hands. Elsie wants to take them in her own, rub heat back into Ginny’s fingers. She wants to be anywhere but here.
“The apartment.”
Elsie almost wishes Derrick would be there. He’s always been a great snuggler, and she could use some cuddles right now. She could use feelings that aren’t any more complicated than I like you. She could use easy conversation, any conversation, instead of the silence on the drive home, so thick she wants to roll her window down.
Instead, she unlocks the door to an empty, dark apartment. She leaves her suitcase just inside. She goes straight to bed on a mattress she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to take when she moves out, and cries.