14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Once inside the lovely home, they were met with a roar of warmth, the loud voices still at a distance. Hope ditched her contributions to the apparently abundant food supply in the deserted kitchen and rescued the bottles of wine out of Alison’s arms to dunk them into the massive half wine-barrel filled with ice.
The voices were coming from outside, just beyond the big glass doors, in the back garden. She saw Alison go still as she took in the small crowd. There were perhaps only twenty or so guests, since the party hadn’t even started yet. The very faint sparkle that had grown within Alison in the car had faded from her grey eyes and her face looked carefully blank, tension ticking in her jaw. Hope watched as every shred of relaxation fled from Alison’s body. A slow flood of realisation hit her.
“Oh shit,” Hope said. She touched Alison’s arm, drawing her fixed gaze back from the party outside. “I think… am I just a total fucking idiot?”
“I’m sorry?” Alison frowned at her. Hope dropped her fingers from Alison’s forearm but turned her whole body toward her.
“I basically forced you to this party tonight. And you didn’t want to come, because you’re actually quite socially anxious,” Hope realised out loud. “You just mask it really well.” The understanding mounted up fast: Alison, her expression haughty and cold in the pub that first night, then hiding away in the dark; Alison steeling herself in Hope’s hallway, trying to face Hope’s friends as if she wasn’t afraid; Alison stiff with anxiety on the car trip here, now standing rigid before her in Camille’s kitchen.
Alison drew herself up tall, her face tight, taking deep breath, clearly readying herself to tell Hope to back the hell off. Then, her eyes slid closed and she breathed out slowly.
“Why do I always make friends with people who insist on telling me what my feelings are?” she said faintly.
“Because you won’t tell us otherwise. I’m right though, aren’t I?”
Alison hesitated. She opened her eyes with effort and stared out at the party going on behind the glass.
“I’m not socially anxious ,” she said defensively. “I mean, not naturally. I’m good at this stuff.”
“I know,” Hope said. “I’ve seen it. You had my friends eating out the palm of your hand.”
“I mean, yes,” said Alison. She looked slightly relieved as she remembered what she was capable of. “It just takes a lot of effort these days. So much of my brain is taken up by wondering who’s seen the very worst moments of my life replicated on television, and if or when they’re going to realise who I am. What they’ll ask. What they’ll think of me.”
She looked at Hope, her eyes swimming with pain. Hope took a sharp breath. She wanted to hug Alison right now, in the worst way. If it was one of her other friends she would, she absolutely would. And yet she didn’t. She was pretty sure that if she hugged Alison right now, Alison would cry, and then she’d never forgive Hope for it. They weren’t there yet. And if Hope pushed her too hard, they might never get there.
“I guess it’s lucky you’re so hot,” Hope said instead. “You could talk absolute rubbish and people would walk away thinking you were witty and charming.” Alison burst out a small gasp of what was almost laughter. “You could be entirely silent, if you want,” Hope went on, “and people will just remember you as the beautiful mysterious brunette they couldn’t draw out. They’ll assume it’s them, not you. ”
“If only it was that easy,” Alison’s voice was faint, but she’d pushed past the threat of tears, a wry smile threatening her bottom lip.
“Do you want me to introduce you as my stunning foreign friend? You’ll have to pick a really obscure language though, in case one of these fucking hipsters speaks French, Spanish and Russian.”
“Icelandic,” Alison agreed, without even skipping a beat. Hope smiled. Her teeth sunk into her lip.
“Or,” she said, “we can leave?”
Alison’s eyelashes flicked up. She frowned.
“I’m not making you leave your friend’s party. We drove all this way to the middle of nowhere.”
“Ali,” Hope said, the nickname rolling off her tongue with surprising ease. “ I drove you here. Honestly, kind of against your will, as it turns out. I’m sorry I’m so fucking pushy. I just didn’t want you to shut me out,” she confessed. “We can go. We’ll take a bottle of wine and go hang out in a pretty field somewhere.” She stopped talking abruptly before she added the part about a picnic rug and the sunset. It was all sounding far too romantic already. Her and Alison, alone together, buzzed on wine, beneath the stars .
Alison watched her face for a minute. Her grey eyes had gotten a little soft.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’ve got this. Thank you though.” They gazed at each other for a second, Hope checking in, Alison letting her. “Besides,” Alison said, her voice coming out almost at normal strength, “I’m here to hipster watch. There’s so much to unpack here. I can’t believe Camille and Prisha live together.”
“Ugh.” Hope rolled her eyes as the moment broke, turning away to pull out wine glasses. “You still don’t see us as real humans,” she complained as she poured the wine. “Just extremely good-looking stereotypes with amazing taste in all things important. It’s so insulting.”
Alison accepted the glass Hope gave her, with one satisfyingly arched eyebrow.
“Like I said, please lead the way so I can study you all in great depth.”
“I didn’t realise hipster anthropology was so well-regarded at the University of Rey…Rej…”
“Reykjavík,” Alison informed her instantly.
“Takk,” said Hope. “Amma mín var íslensk. tú ert s?tur samt. ”
“I’m sorry?”
“Thanks. My grandmother was Icelandic. You’re cute though.” She smirked at Alison’s gobsmacked face and sudden blush, leading the way over to the glass doors. “I lived there for a year after high school, actually. Do you need to hold my hand?” she asked, her own eyebrows raised.
“Thanks, I’m good,” Alison said, her face all kinds of bemused. What she didn’t look, was nervous. Work done, Hope slid open the door for her and Alison stalked out ahead, ready to own the party.
“ Alison Hartmann,” Camille loudly full-named her on first sight, making at least two guests turn immediately to look her way. “I didn’t know you were making it this evening.” She air-kissed Alison with her lips conspicuously about a mile from Alison’s cheek and gave Hope a sharp glance over her shoulder. Hope was faintly aware of the wounded look in Camille’s eye, but she was caught acutely by Camille outing Alison in one hit. She stepped closer to Alison, her fingers light on the small of her back, trying to send both women a message, as well as anyone else watching. She’s welcome here with me .
“I found her when I was buying wine,” Hope explained, trying to pull Camille back in from wherever she was spinning out to. “And kidnapped her. After all, a party is a great way to meet people when you’re new in town. ”
“You brought a date to our housewarming,” said Camille with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “How cute.”
“Oh, I’m not her date,” Alison said lightly. “Don’t let that rumour get out, or it’ll cramp her style tonight. She’s dressed to kill, after all.”
Camille cocked her head and took in Hope’s outfit. Alison did too. Hope let herself be studied as the two women worked out how to navigate each other. Dressed to kill was definitely overselling it; it was an outdoor party just as winter was starting to truly arrive, so a hell of a lot of her was covered by an oversized cardigan. Until the sun went down and the real cold hit, the cardigan was open though, and under it, was, to put it simply, not very much.
The lacy purple crop top she wore actually might technically be underwear, not outerwear, but it was a bright pop of colour that embraced her curves luxuriously and left a wide strip of skin exposed above her high-waisted pants. The cardigan slipped off her shoulder from time to time, Hope hitching it or not, depending on how much skin she felt like showing. When she’d dressed at home she knew it was the perfect blend of snuggly yet sexy, in case she wanted the night to go either way. Right now though, with Alison’s unexpected eyes on her skin, she felt ever so slightly naked. And oh fuck, she liked it.
“You look great, babe,” Camille told her. “Like a fucking snack. I could just eat you.” She kissed Hope’s cheek and pulled her close .
“Oh, look at you cuties!” Prisha tumbled in a second later and Hope tugged out of Camille’s embrace to greet her. “Argh,” Prisha clapped her hand over her eyes, peeking between her fingers and turning her head between Hope and Alison. “I literally cannot deal with how much pretty just walked into this party.” She pressed a kiss to Hope’s cheek and then Alison’s. Her voice was warm, just a hint of wine loosening her movements. “Literally the two of you together is too much, you have to stop.”
Hope waited for Alison to reiterate the not a date, not together line she’d clarified to Camille, but perhaps she, like Hope, was aware that repeating this was starting to sound like they doth protest too much. Instead, Alison just smiled.
“That’s rather a lot from you and Camille. You’re stunning together,” she said approvingly. “Your outfits are even complementary. Was that planned?”
“Oh,” said Prisha, looking at her housemate close by her side. The green of Camille’s dress was matched perfectly by the pop of Prisha’s oversized earrings, gleaming beneath her glossy dark hair. Both wore the delicate gold friendship bracelets they’d long shared on their left wrists. “Not planned,” she said, her eyes on Camille’s face. “Just kind of in sync, I guess.”
“No, I told you to wear those earrings, remember?” Camille smiled at her as their eyes met. “Totally trying to make you match me. And I won. ”
“You always win,” said Prisha, with a faint eye roll. “Because I always let you.”
“Because you love me.”
“Because I love you,” Prisha agreed quietly. Camille tangled her pinky finger with Prisha’s and for a moment Prisha seemed to glow. It was cute how much the two adored each other. Hope was never jealous, exactly, of the closeness the two women shared, especially now they lived together. Their friendship was on another plane, a full decade of intimacy. Besides, they always made their love of Hope clear too, their friendship expansive and permeable. Even now, Camille was smiling at her, apparently thawing from her displeasure at Alison’s presence.
Then another voice interrupted, calling Camille’s name. She dropped Prisha’s hand and was wrapped up in a raucous greeting with a whole stack of new friends, getting hauled away, her gleeful shriek vibrant in the cool air.
“Lord,” Hope said to Prisha, “thank god you’re here. Milly’s really on one tonight.”
“She is?” Prisha blinked, flexing her empty fingers, the remains of her smile starting to fade as she turned toward Hope.
Hope opened her mouth, about to try to dissect Camille’s rampant hostility, when Alison interrupted .
“She’s not,” she said. “She’s really not. It’s just parties. They bring out the… everything in everyone. Oh, look, is that Magnus?”
As the party began to fill, Hope forced herself to stop hovering. Alison wasn’t her date. The urge Hope had to keep touching her, to lay her hand on the small of her back to reassure her, or to squeeze her arm as they talked, was noticeably increasing as the rosé hit her bloodstream. Hope was careful to resist it.
Because oh what a small movement it would be, to slide her hand from Alison’s lower back, mere inches in fact, to mould over the curve of her hip, possessive and intent, like a lover. Equally short was the distance between Hope’s hand on Alison’s arm, and her fingers slipping down to tangle with Alison’s own, seeking out the feeling of skin on skin.
No. Boundaries were there for a reason, especially when there was alcohol involved. Hope was adamant: no friendships would get messed up tonight.