Work Text:
Maybe this was a good idea, Emily thought for the first time as she stared out of the car window, watching the trees pass them by. The scenery here was so different. Less bright, not so saturated.
Not that Emily didn’t like the beaches of Los Angeles or the power rush of New York, but there was something about the mountains, the trees, the blue sky. Calm and quiet, and underneath, a little foreboding.
Cleansing. That’s what this trip was supposed to be. Not that Beca had said that (her girlfriend hated words like that), but Emily had understood the connotation.
A break , is what Beca had actually said. Some time away.
I think you need a break. Let’s go away for a bit. A few months, just me and you. We can do that. Please, Em, let’s just go.
Emily had agreed. Not like she really had a choice. She had reached a breaking point, had worked herself up, built molehills into mountains into continents and planets and then galaxies. Problems and aches that she could no longer keep under control, could not keep hidden in the pocket of her heart, the privacy of her home, the digital scroll-log that represented, to everyone else, her relationship and life. She had mentally driven to the edge of the cliff and peered over the side and to them, it didn’t matter whether she jumped or not, she had taken a look and that was enough.
She had, in today’s celebrity-news from the Twitterverse, gone off the deep-end .
But they had seen nothing compared to what she’d been thinking for months and months but was really years, little instances building up, stacking and clicking into each other like Legos, one on top of the other, until it finally got to be too much and toppled over, the careful construction of Emily Junk shattered apart.
And still, some stuck together, sturdy and stubborn and resilient, and of those, she would probably never be free. They lived in her, a permanent tenant in her heart, her bones, her blood. Like cells, once there, they might grow and shrink and change, but they would never disappear.
Her thoughts twisted around like this, like the winding mountain road they were currently on, back and forth, something new around each bend. A new memory, a new ache.
A break , Beca had said. Yes, maybe this was a good idea, Emily agreed, eyes peering over the cliffside parallel to her. There was something beautiful in that drop. In being above the treeline, the sun shining warm on the rolling mountain side, Beca’s hands so careful and sure on the wheel, keeping them safe.
And here, at least, Emily could look down to the unseeable bottom, and no one would know, no one would take a picture, tweet a thought, write a blog. Here, her spiral was just a flashback, the metaphorical car crash that was her sanity just a noteworthy column in last week’s newspaper.
Here, it was just Emily, her forehead pressed to the passenger side window, and Beca, singing quietly underneath the music. Just the two of them shut away in the car, sometimes exchanging conversation, but mostly just a comforting presence to each other as they drove. They might as well be in college again, on their way to get coffee, the biggest care they had no more urgent than a setlist, a choreo routine, a Chem exam.
Here, maybe that was a memory Emily could live in, a fantasy long gone that she could never have back. A version of them, of BecaAndEmily that existed in a different time.
A break , Beca had said.
Yes, Emily thought, her eyes on that beautiful drop, her heart twisting like that mountain road. Maybe it was for the best.
//
The transition to a life of fame had not exactly been easy for Emily.
She knew it was because she was a people-pleaser. She had always had an innate compulsion to make everyone like her, ever since she was young. And what was fame if not just a constant treasure hunt for affection, approval. Love.
Maybe it would have been easier if she’d wanted it, if it had been her dream. But she had been thrust into it suddenly -- unexpectedly hand-picked by those who knew best and all she had done was say yes . It had been that easy.
And sure, she had had her caveats, her compromises, practically dragging Beca Mitchell by the collar along with her. But still, it was not something she had necessarily wanted. Not that she didn’t want it… but it was not something she had wanted in advance .
Now, though. Maybe she didn’t want it at all.
She’s not sure, actually, that she ever truly did want it. Not the fame part, anyway. Not the adoration of fans, the spotlight. She had wanted to make music with Beca. That’s all. The fame was just a consequence. An intended consequence, and easily foreseen with Beca by her side, but still, not the goal, the endgame, the way to measure her success.
In the beginning, it had come on so quickly. So easily. Like blinking. She had said yes and a month later, an EP, overnight fame. There had been music videos and singles and then albums and awards and she had not meant any of it. She had only wanted to write her songs and play her guitar and have Beca by her side.
She had, of course, known that doing those things meant she could be famous. But it had been more of an abstract concept, something a little too good to be true and too weird to be real. Something that existed in a dream-like universe, one she sometimes thought about but only as a form of entertainment, a way to pass the time, a healthy dose of what if… ?
And then what if …? became reality, just like that. Suddenly she was America’s sweetheart, a pop sensation. There were magazine covers and Time’s Most Influential Under Thirty lists. There were paparazzi stalkers and number one fans. There were platinum records, Grammy speeches, press attention.
And critics. So many critics. Music critics, tabloid writers, interviewers thinking they could pull the wool over her eyes.
“Emily, is it true you were married to Jake Arlen?”
“Pop sensation Emily Junk -- sweetheart or secret diva?”
“Junk’s latest record features a lot of whimsical imagery to a heavy backbeat, but it doesn’t pull any punches. Her usual style -- the love ballads and funky pop melodies -- act as a crutch to distract from lyrics that fall a little flat.”
Fame was probably not an ideal lifestyle choice for a people-pleaser. She could not, realistically, please everyone. But oh, how she tried.
She had sanded down the awkward parts of her personality, had pushed in the weird bits, had fluffed out the bubbly, happy parts of her that people always liked. She had sculpted an Emily Junk so perfectly suitable to the public that she might as well have been made out of plastic.
In the beginning, she had barely minded. Her fear of being disliked had been much greater than her fear of being dissatisfied. She did everything asked of her, never complained. She was easy to work with. Bright. Friendly. A shiny new car, everyone take it out for a spin, see how great?
Perhaps things would’ve been different if she hadn’t had Beca by her side.
Emily wondered this often. She was not quite sure, even now, how much interference Beca had run on her behalf. How many execs she’d gone to war with, how many PR disasters she’d prevented in advance.
She did not know - but she was sure it was more than any person could justifiably ask for -- how much hate and negativity and grittiness Beca had thrown herself in front of to protect her. Beca had shielded her for so long, had been a forcefield, a pulsing light in a room Emily hadn’t realized was so dark.
But Beca could only do so much. It wasn’t long before Emily grew too big, too public. Emily had thought it had been her and Beca against the world -- but the reality was that she had not realized the world was much bigger than a label, a few execs in fancy suits, a few creepy comments under her music videos. Soon the world grew much wider and it was impossible for one girl, determined and prickly and stubborn though she may be, to stand in front of it all.
Emily didn’t want her to anyway. She could handle herself.
She had thought so anyway.
It was clear now, as it should have been after that first disastrous mistake, when the world was still small and her problem was just a foolish AD with a fake-but-real marriage license, that she could not handle herself at all.
//
If Beca’s love for Emily had been a shield, then Emily’s love for Beca had been a blindfold.
Well. Maybe not a blindfold. Maybe a pair of rose-colored glasses. On top of the ones she already wore.
Because it had been easy, in the beginning. When she had been in the process of falling in love. It had been difficult to think of much else. There had been meetings and PR stunts and shitty articles, but they had all meant very little in the grand plot of her epic love story.
It had been a double-edged sword, though. Her love for Beca had allowed her to ignore it, but it had also fueled a prolific and successful several years that had catapulted her into the oppressive spotlight. Love songs had come to her as easy as breathing. She heard choruses in her sleep, melodies over breakfast. She may as well have thought exclusively in song lyrics during those years.
“Emily, are you dating Connor Gordon?”
“Emily, any secret insight into the inspiration behind Party of Two ?”
“BUZZFEED QUIZ: WHICH OF EMILY JUNK’S RUMORED BOYFRIENDS ARE YOU?”
It hadn’t bothered her. Not at the beginning. She and Beca weren’t exactly a secret, but maybe this all would’ve been easier if she’d just gone with a gay duet in one of her earlier songs. Maybe it would’ve slowed down the high-speed train of her success for the better. Maybe it would’ve prevented a lot of the discourse that led to her very public breakdown, to the reason that necessitated this break.
The beginning had been easy, but maybe she should’ve done it differently in the aftermath of it all, because the awareness of her problems had come in the after .
After they had been together for several years already. After the media had gal-paled them and ignored them and thought nothing of their publicly held hands, their affection. After they had written Emily off as straight, until suddenly, she wasn’t, until suddenly she got sick of the questions, the speculation, the clever guessing.
“Thank you to the fans and to the label. And last, to the love of my life. Beca Mitchell, you are my rock and my heart and every day, you amaze me. I love you.”
Beca Mitchell . She had practically screamed it from the rooftops. I’m in love with Beca Mitchell.
She had thought, predictably, that the drama surrounding her coming out would have to do with her sexuality, with her relationship, and there had been some backlash but it had been so minor that it hadn’t even stuck on her radar.
No, the problem was not that she was dating a girl, dating Beca. It was that she was not dating a guy.
“Emily, how would you respond to those saying your songs have lost their integrity with the subject of affection in them typically being perceived as male?”
“Ride or Die Junkies Stand with Emily - Songs Still Relatable Even If Gay #LGBTJunkiesExist”
“BUZZFEED QUIZ: WHICH EMILY JUNK SONG ABOUT LONGTIME GIRLFRIEND BECA MITCHELL ARE YOU?”
God, it was like some kind of toxic waste swirling in her chest, the way their questions made her feel. She couldn’t please them. Any of them. They called her a liar, a coward. They never stopped asking about her dating life, when they thought she was with boys or now that she was with Beca.
And maybe she could’ve handled it, if it hadn’t been for the insane double standard she constantly felt. Because it wasn’t even about Emily’s sexuality. It was about her fame . The false subject of her catchy pop songs. Her love bops, her breakup ballads. The speculation was gone, and now there was just her integrity left to criticize.
Meanwhile, they all loved to praise Beca on her work. They gushed how she was making waves, how she was taking the industry to new heights, paving the way for new and exciting music, fresh hot takes.
And Emily was so happy for her, so proud because it was true .
But why did she have to take the brunt of it all? What was the reason that they gave Beca everything she deserved and then turned around and slapped Emily with the types of questions that made her want to pull her hair out?
Was it because Beca was the music, but Emily was the face of it all? Fans and industry professionals alike knew Beca Mitchell, but the entire world knew Emily Junk, and they all had an opinion. They took the plastic pieces of her that she’d shaped so perfectly, intending to please, and they called her empty and vain and dishonest. They wanted to condescend to her during the day, then turn right around and dance themselves to death to her songs at night.
It was take, take, take, and they would not give her an inch.
Her happiness was fake, her songs were shallow, her image was a lie. If she was anything it was because Beca Mitchell had made her so.
And maybe that last one was true. Maybe she owed everything she had to Beca. Her success, her money, her fame. But when it was all stripped back, when she took a hard look at herself and everything she had worked for, when she really examined what she actually wanted , the only person she still wanted, and wanted to please, was Beca.
She had come full circle, back to the beginning, when all it had been about was making music with Beca. She had not wanted the fame, the spotlight. She had only wanted to chase that renegade rush of writing a song with Beca at her side.
So she had given up. Just stopped.
She had blown off her recording sessions, had become distant, moody. She had snapped at the paparazzi, had said untoward things to reporters. She was no longer America’s Sweetheart. She was angry and she was exhausted and she was not that plastic people-pleaser anymore. No, now she was just a shell of the person she had once been.
She yearned for an older version of herself, wanted the girl who fought back to make an appearance once again. The one who had heard the Barden Bellas had been disbanded and went knocking on their front door anyway. The one who had been publicly shamed in front of DJ Khaled and still became a star. The one who had chased Beca Mitchell down, hurtling herself head first into an elevator, just for a chance at love.
Emily missed that girl, wanted her back every day .
But that girl was gone, buried under mountains of expectation, of criticism, of her own self-mutilation. In the new and plastic carving of Emily Junk, that girl had been shoved into a box and forgotten about, and if Emily wanted to find her again, she wouldn’t know where to look. She wouldn’t even know where to start .
No, that version of her was gone, and this new version of her going the same way.
What was left was practically nothing, just a girl in a car being whisked away for a break , a girl with nothing left to lose but the person beside her.
And that was a comfort to her, she knew distantly. She still had one thing left to lose, the girl who had given Emily everything. Who had stayed by her no matter what. Who had thrown herself in front of the world just to spare Emily even the slightest bit of hardship.
Emily might have lost it all, but she still had Beca, and in the end, that was all she really wanted.
So she let Beca take her away, hide her from the world for a little bit. She didn’t think it would do much; it was, almost certainly, too late for that. But if it would give Beca peace of mind, then Emily would do it.
For Beca, Emily would do anything at all.
//
Beca had worked her magic, called in a few favors, borrowed the keys from one of her exec friends.
“A cabin in the mountains,” she’d told Emily. “A nice lake house to escape to for a little while where we can just chill.”
Mansion. It was a mansion.
Okay, maybe not a mansion , not like some Emily had been to. But it was a hell of a lot more than some cabin in the mountains . Some quaint little lake house.
Sure, it was in the mountains, right on the lake, but, geez.
“Nice digs,” Emily said when she unlocked the door.
Beca huffed out a heavy breath, insistent on carrying four bags at once, too stubborn to let Emily help. “Oh, come on. This is nothing.”
“I thought we were getting away from all this,” Emily pointed out as she stepped in further, the floorboards audibly creaking under her feet. She poked her head around the corner of the entrance hall and into a large family room sporting a big screen TV, a grand piano, and, Emily rolled her eyes, a few framed platinum records on the walls. She didn’t miss the Moon Men on the mantle, either.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. We’re away .” Beca grunted again, shuffling a few steps in behind her and nearly collapsing under the weight of Emily’s duffle.
Emily sighed and grabbed one of the bags, ignoring Beca’s sputtering protest (“Hey, no, stop! I said I got it! Emily! ”). She pushed more into the house, dragging the bag into the living room and dumping it next to the bottom of the stairs, Beca groaning behind her.
She made her way through the house, poking her head into rooms as she passed. There were a few on the main floor: a large kitchen, a decked out studio (Beca would nerd out over that, surely), a bathroom, a sitting room, and even a sunroom leading to the patio. Upstairs, there were a few bedrooms and a master bath.
Off the sunroom was the deck, with a hot tub and a fire pit. Branching off from the deck was a very long set of stairs on the mountainside, leading down to another smaller deck right on the lake. From up top, Emily could see a couple of Adirondack chairs looking out over the glassy water.
It was nice.
“Well?” Beca asked when Emily had finished her exploration. She shifted on her feet, looking at Emily nervously, and Emily paused.
Beca had not been nervous with her in so long. Was she that fragile right now that Beca was so afraid to disappoint her?
“It’s really nice,” she offered Beca a smile. She leaned down to kiss Beca on the cheek, lingering for the slightest second and nuzzling her nose there because sometimes she could still make Beca blush if she was really soft. “Thank you,” she said quietly, putting as much sincerity into it as she could muster.
When she pulled back, Beca’s cheeks were a very faint pink. All these years later and it was still that easy. There was something immensely satisfying about that.
“I mean,” Beca said, bolstering her voice to save face. Emily loved it. “At least it’s just us now. Two months, just me and you, baby! And most importantly, no Theo.”
Emily chuckled. “Yeah, okay, baby . Why don’t we carry these bags upstairs and then figure out what we’re doing for dinner. That kitchen is empty.”
“I got the bags. You just sit down and relax.”
“No. Can you please just let me help?”
“Not a chance, Junk. You just chill out and let me do the manual labor.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “I cried in public once, Beca. I can still carry a freaking bag.”
Beca scoffed. “This isn’t about that . I’m chivalrous, that’s all.”
“It’s been seven years, I think we’re past the point of chivalry.”
“We are absolutely not. Chivalry isn’t dead, Em. Not on my watch.” And with that, she picked up all the bags and started up the stairs.
Emily let her. If seven years had taught her anything, it was that taking care of Emily seemed to be at the top of the list of things that made Beca happy.
And at the top of the list of things that made Emily happy? Making Beca happy.
So she flopped down on the couch, sighed as she listened to Beca curse when she dropped a bag and it tumbled all the way back down the stairs, and tried not to doubt whether this trip would really even make any difference at all.
//
Emily always slept well in new places.
That was something she’d discovered when she was young, but it had been infinitely helpful in her adult years, when she spent months away from home touring, a new city every night.
“Jesus, you can sleep anywhere,” Beca had teased her before, but it just wasn’t true.
She often found it difficult, especially in more recent years, to fall asleep when they were home. The familiarity of their room made her restless, her brain already anticipating everything she had to do the next day, week, month. Her thoughts ceaselessly dissected every little moment she didn’t want to think about. She would roll over, toss side-to-side, frustrated and irritated, as the already minimal hours in her packed schedule set aside for sleep dwindled. She’d eventually doze off, never into anything deep enough to be restful, and then her alarm would go off and she’d have to brace herself for the day once again.
She had become, over the years, a champion for quick midday naps.
Maybe this trip was for the best, then. That first night, it seemed years of exhaustion finally caught up with her. She fell asleep nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow, Beca’s lamp still shining on the other side of the bed, and she slept a solid twelve hours.
When she finally slumped her way downstairs, it was just shy of noon, and Beca had already been up and about. Emily found her in the kitchen, singing along to something playing from her phone as she unpacked what seemed like enough groceries to feed an army of Barden Bellas, past, present, and future.
Emily eased herself onto the stool at the kitchen island, watching her through still-sleepy eyes.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Beca teased, throwing a smile at Emily over her shoulder as she stocked the fridge.
“Morning,” Emily yawned.
Beca chuckled, the sound muffled from inside the fridge. “Was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up.”
Emily hummed, slumping her chin in her hand. “Tired,” she murmured by way of explanation.
Beca finally closed the fridge, then reached up into the cupboard and pulled down a mug. She poured some coffee into it and slid it across the island to Emily. “Good news,” she grinned. “This town has coffee.”
“Were you doubting it would?”
Beca made a noncommittal noise. “You can never be too careful.”
Emily hid her smile behind her mug as she took a sip. “Mhmm. Looks like they have enough food to feed a film crew, too.”
Beca squinted at her, but said nothing, turning back to the groceries.
Emily watched over the rim of her mug as Beca started to put dry goods away, lifting up on her tiptoes to reach the higher shelves. She could help, but she liked to watch, and anyway, Beca would probably shoo her away if she tried.
It had been a ritual for them, once upon a time, Emily thought, to go grocery shopping and put things away in the kitchen. She couldn’t remember exactly when they’d stopped, but at some point, even things as typical as going to the grocery store became an ordeal for Emily. She couldn’t walk five feet without being recognized, and it’s not like she cared that much, but it was still annoying to find pictures of herself online where she looked like crap, but come on, she wasn’t gonna get dressed to the nines to go to the store. In the end, it just became too much of a hassle, so now they mostly got their groceries delivered.
Her heart gave a small pang, and she bit her lip, forcing back the sudden tears behind her eyes that threatened to become visible. God, she missed doing lame, mundane shit with Beca, but it wasn’t worth crying over, was it? Not now when Beca was already worried about her. Maybe later. When Beca couldn’t see.
(And when had she become self-conscious about crying in front of Beca?)
“More good news,” Beca said, either clueless to Emily’s internal spiral or perhaps gracious enough to ignore it. She pulled a few paper brochures out of one of the plastic grocery bags. “At the general store in town, they have a nice little Town Info section, and I found a map of all the hikes in the area. You should pick one and we can go later today. It’s supposed to be nice out.”
She slid the brochures and hiking trail maps across to Emily. Emily peered down at them, not even bothering to open them up and look. She frowned. She wasn’t in the mood to go hiking (she wasn't in the mood to do much of anything), and Beca hated all things outdoors anyway. “But you hate hiking.”
Beca shrugged. “You don’t.”
Ugh. The tears were threatening again and she stared down at the brochures so hard she risked burning a hole through them. Why did Beca have to try so hard, why did she have to love Emily this much?
Couldn’t she just let Emily stew in this defeat, couldn’t she just let her wallow in her misery?
No, Emily knew, and it hurt her deep in her bones. Because her happiness was Beca’s happiness, her misery was Beca’s misery. A wonderful, horrible, lovely, awful consequence of love.
Numbly, Emily nodded. “Okay,” she said, desperately trying to keep the thickness out of her throat.
She could do this. She would put on a brave face, would entertain Beca’s attempts to cheer her up. If they would make Beca feel better, she would do it, gladly, without complaint.
And who knew. Maybe, she thought dimly and with very little conviction, maybe they might even work.
//
Emily’s misery was not the product of one public breakdown, although she’s sure they all thought so.
They being literally everyone else in the world, because they all had an opinion about it.
No, her misery was years and years in the making. It was the speculation, the expectation, the constant attention -- even before she had declared her love for Beca Mitchell on national television and they began to constantly discuss her integrity, her sexuality, her questionable talent.
Before all that. Everything she had done, every song she had written, every boy she had been seen with for two seconds -- all up for grabs.
“Her lyrics are so cringey. She tries too hard.”
“Her innocent act is so fake. Everything about her is fake.”
“She’s a serial dater who dates boys and breaks up with them just so she can write a song about them.”
God forbid the fact that she had kissed, like, three boys in her life before she dated Beca and one had been when she was fourteen years old. God forbid that she had actually dated the same person for nearly the last seven years. God forbid she enjoyed poetry but just wanted people to dance to a catchy bop!
Maybe she was cringey. Maybe she was naive. Maybe she had gotten way too in over her head.
She had just wanted to make music with Beca. She thought that’s what it was about. Music. And most days, she could focus on the song, ignore the rest. But those days became fewer as time wore her down, as she caught fewer breaks, heard more absurd accusations about her character, her writing, her relationships.
Her misery was not the product of one very embarrassing, very public breakdown.
Her misery was a product of grief, and the breakdown a product of that.
Because that’s what she felt more and more. Grief. She was lost. She was not here anymore. She was a perfect, plastic cutout, growing more plastic and less perfect by the day, and what, she wondered, had happened to Emily Junk?
What had happened to the girl who fell out of a tree at ten years old and broke her arm, proudly sporting a hot pink cast for all to see? What had happened to the girl who had taken a World-Championship a cappella legacy and built it back up from scratch, all on her own? What had happened to the girl who had picked up Beca Mitchell, the Beca Mitchell, and pinned her to an elevator wall, kissing her senseless without thought for who might walk in?
Was she gone? Was that just it? Had this new Emily just packed her up in a box and left her to suffocate?
She was miserable because she was mad. She was bitter and angry and resentful. At the world, yes, but mostly at herself. She should’ve known better. She should’ve been stronger. Should not have sacrificed herself so much for the sake of compromise.
She didn’t know the moment she snapped; there was not just one clear, concise moment. They all thought it was that moment of breakdown -- Emily Junk found sobbing outside NYC studio, popstar inconsolable -- but there were so many smaller moments she could think back on. Times she could not hold back a passive aggressive tone in an interview. Times she would refuse to answer a question. Times Beca had seen something in her expression and stepped in, throwing herself once again in front of anything that might hurt Emily, but those times, the enemy had been Emily herself and an easily foreseen PR nightmare.
There had been private tears and rants and frustration. Times Emily had nearly flung her phone across the room. Times she had yelled at Beca for not letting her fight her own battles.
There had been so many moments when she had snapped, just a little bit, the strings that held her sanity together breaking one by one until there was nothing left but a lone thread, so weak and thin it might as well have been invisible.
“Emily, any comment on Jake Arlen’s new fiancee?”
“Emily, what are you wearing to the Grammy’s?”
“Emily, any response to the newest rumors that you were lip syncing on your last tour?”
Emily had a response to it all. She sure did. “Fuck you.”
Oh, sure, they heard it all the time. They heard it from other celebrities. They heard it from Beca on her behalf. But they had not heard it from her. Never from her. Never from perfect, plastic, people-pleasing Emily Junk .
“Fuck you,” she said again. Three times. Four times.
And she had laughed. She had laughed herself silly, laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe. She had laughed so hard she cried. And then she stopped laughing and just cried. Oh, she cried and cried. She sat herself down right there on the sidewalk and cried her shallow, empty Emily Junk heart out.
Her assistant could not move her. Her bodyguard could not haul her up. The paparazzi closed in, their cameras flashing like a fireworks show celebrating the moment they thought she lost it all.
She laughed and she cried and there she sat, losing her mind, and only one thought broke through.
“I take my eyes off you for two seconds -- let you do something on your own for two goddamn seconds!”
This was the end, Emily knew it. She had never been able to handle herself and oh , she had done it now. She had blown off her recording sessions, shown her true colors without thinking, and now, here she was, sprawled on the sidewalk bawling her eyes out, giving the paps a show that would make their whole damn careers.
“Move it! Back off!”
She had failed to please the label with the slow deteriorating of her image. Failed to please the world with her relationships, her shallow bubblegum pop music. And now she had failed Beca, causing yet another mess she had to clean up.
Just another time Beca had to rush in because she had left Emily to her own devices for two goddamn seconds .
“I said back the fuck up or there’s gonna be a fucking lawsuit you fucking vultures.”
That freshman girl who had lost the Barden Bellas a riff-off and needed defending by Beca Mitchell. That girl who had accidentally married her co-star because Beca hadn’t been there to read the fine-print. Those girls -- they were nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to Emily Junk collapsed against a wall, unreachable, a spectacle shinier and brighter and bigger than the royal wedding.
Small hands slid between her palms.
“Emily?”
Emily gasped for breath somewhere between the sobs and opened her eyes. “Beca?”
Beca had squatted down in front of her, her face a blur through the tears. “I’m here.”
“I fucked up,” Emily garbled. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Beca squeezed her hands. “Let’s just get you out of here, okay?”
Emily nodded and let Beca pull her up off the ground. She heard Beca barking out some more threats, but her hand was small and warm and familiar in Emily’s, and it was all she could focus on.
Somehow, Beca managed to get her into a car. Shut the door. Relay instructions to the driver.
And then she was pulling Emily into her, her arms tight around Emily’s middle. Emily pressed her face into Beca’s chest and cried. She cried and cried, getting tears and snot on Beca’s expensive blazer.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Over and over. She could not say anything else. “I’m really sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Beca murmured into her hair. “Fuck those guys.”
Emily sniffled. “This is gonna be a PR nightmare.”
“So what?” Beca shrugged. “Who cares about that?”
“Everyone cares!”
“I don’t.” She tightened her grip around Emily’s middle. “I care about you.”
Emily paused. “You’re not… mad?”
“Yeah, I’m furious. Why can’t they just leave you alone? I swear to fucking God. I’m surprised you haven’t gone off before now.”
“I meant… you’re not mad at me ?”
She could feel Beca’s frown pressing into her hair. “What? No. God no.”
Emily slumped further into Beca, suddenly so exhausted she couldn’t even manage to cry anymore.
After a minute, Beca said quietly, “did you really think I would be mad at you?”
Emily scrunched her eyes shut. Maybe she had a few more tears left in her after all. “I just… I don’t know,” she squeaked out.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I mean I did realize that it was taking a toll. I know it’s never been easy, not even at the beginning. But you’re just so… strong. You’re so resilient. God knows if it were me I would’ve gotten myself into trouble five times over by now. But you . You take so much like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t bother you at all. And I’m sorry. I know it does and I just…” Beca sighed. “Look, I think you need a break.”
Emily sniffled. “A break?”
“Yeah. Let’s go away for a bit. A few months, just me and you. We can do that.”
“Can we?”
“Yeah. Please, Em, let’s just go. Get away from all this stuff. The stupid paparazzi and the gossip and everyone. Everyone . Our anniversary is coming up. Let’s just… let’s just go.”
It sounded like a bad idea. Like running away from problems that would still be there when they got back.
But Beca’s voice was so tiny, so pleading and gentle and worried.
“Okay,” Emily had agreed. So Beca had made the calls and they packed up their bags, and a week later, they were gone.
//
Emily spent the next two weeks saying okay .
Every day, some new thing Beca found for them to do.
“I think we should try that Point Place trail today, what do you think?”
“Yo, Em, check out this board game I found upstairs.”
“Hey, we haven’t gone to this waterfall yet. It looks pretty dope actually.”
Okay , Emily said. Okay, okay, okay.
They went hiking, they spent time by the lake. They drove into the nearby national park at the butt crack of dawn to see if they could spot a moose. They went for scenic drives. They stopped in town and Beca hopped out of the car to get them some ice cream.
They were all things that Emily, at any other point in her life, would have loved to do nonstop with Beca. But right now ? At some point, Emily had to draw the line.
“Horseback riding?”
Emily sighed, pinching her nose. “Okay.”
Beca looked over at her from the other side of the couch, her lips twitching. “What, you don’t like horses?”
“They’re fine.”
“Scared?”
“I’m not scared!”
Beca wiggled her cold toes under Emily’s thighs, grinning. “Okay, chicken. I’ll find something else.”
“I’m not a chicken!”
“So you do want to go horseback riding?”
Emily groaned.
“Okay… so you don’t want to go horseback riding?”
“No.”
“So is there something you do want to do?”
Emily hesitated, reluctant to say. Because Beca was trying so hard. It was like…
Like their relationship needed some kind of blind source of optimism, and if Emily couldn’t muster it up, if Emily felt cynical and down and tired, then Beca was determined to pick up the slack.
It was sweet. It was even kind of romantic.
It was... really freaking exhausting.
“Come on,” Beca teased. “Spit it out.”
“Nothing,” Emily finally said. “I want to do nothing.”
“Oh.”
Emily sighed, letting her head fall back over the couch cushion. “I’m sorry. If you really want to do stuff, we can. I just…” She trailed off. Ugh. There was still such a big part of her that desperately needed to be go-with-the-flow , even here with Beca, no one around, no expectations to meet.
Why couldn’t she just turn it off?
“Okay, then,” Beca shrugged, like it was that easy. “A chill day. Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Sorry,” Emily said quietly. “I didn’t mean to ruin your plans for us.”
Beca rolled her eyes. She pulled her feet out from under Emily and sat up, scooting closer. “This trip is for you,” she said, grabbing Emily’s hand. “We can have no plans if you want no plans.”
“Can we just like… lay around for a bit?”
“Of course,” Beca grinned. “It’s just you always get restless when you have nothing going on. And then you get grumpy.”
Emily scrunched her nose. “I do not get grumpy.”
“Uh, yeah, dude. You do. If you don’t have like, ten thousand plans you start freaking out.”
“That’s because I know there are a million other things I could be doing and I feel guilty!”
Beca raised a playful eyebrow. “Okay, grump.”
“ Beca ,” Emily huffed, but she was grinning. “Stop. I’m not.”
“Mmm. Yeah, no. They all think Emily Junk is soooo sunshiney. Sooooo cute. But me? I know the truth. She’s just a big ol’ grump.” Beca shook her head regretfully. “If only they knew.”
“Okay, you know what?”
She pushed Beca backward and Beca let her, falling on her back with a smirk. “No, tell me?”
Emily crawled on top of her, softening her expression. She looked into Beca’s eyes, gently brought her fingers up to brush a strand of Beca’s hair behind her ear. She hovered her lips over Beca’s, an inch away. “They think Beca Mitchell is so tough, so no-nonsense, but I know the truth.” She brushed their lips together, once, twice, three times, before pulling away, pleased to see Beca’s cheeks had flushed pink. “You’re just a big, gooey softie.”
Beca grunted, but she was biting her teeth over a smile. “Ugh. Do you always have to play so fucking dirty?”
“What? Can’t take a few kisses? Softie.”
Beca grinned, glancing away once before looking back. She brought her hands up around Emily’s neck, keeping her close. “Em?”
She nuzzled her nose against Beca’s, reveling in this closeness, just the two of them shut away from the world. “Hmm?”
“I love you. You know that right?”
Emily sighed against Beca’s lips and nodded. “Yeah,” she murmured quietly. After seven years, sometimes the words were so quick and habitual, something she was lucky enough to take for granted, to hear every day and just know, without thinking, that they were true.
Sometimes, like now, it could still be as disorienting as the first time, could still make her stomach flop and her heart drop and her breath catch.
Sometimes the wonder of it all expanded inside her, like the words were a feast and she’d eaten too much and she was so, so full, the whole feeling just bursting out of her at the seams.
Sometimes it was enough to make a girl want to cry.
“I love you, too,” she said, trying, once again, to keep the tears at bay. “So much.”
Beca scrunched her nose happily, leaning up to kiss her. “Okay, cool. Then, uh, can you move it, you grump? I gotta pee and you’re crushing my bladder.”
Emily rolled her eyes, the feeling inside her immediately dulling to a soft ache. She pushed herself back to the opposite end of the couch and Beca stood up.
She leaned down to kiss Emily once on the top of the head, then walked down the hall toward the bathroom.
Emily frantically wiped her eyes, wondering how long this constant near-tears state was gonna last.
She was getting really tired of crying.
//
Maybe it was the principle of the thing -- maybe she had to prove to Beca that she could be chill -- but over the next week or so, they did nothing, and Emily was fine.
She read a few books she’d brought, tanned on the patio, took a few dips in the lake. And wrote.
She wrote a lot.
Some snippets of songs, a phrase here and there, but her heart wasn’t in it. Mostly, she just journaled, wrote some poetry that was, like, good, but also so depressingly cringe she did not even have the guts to show Beca.
Not that Beca would ever laugh at her for something like that, but God, Emily just wanted to move on. She wondered what the recovery time for an internationally-viewed public meltdown was. A week? A month? A year?
And okay, maybe the things that really got to her these days weren’t just what she felt in the wake of being publicly humiliated. Maybe they ran deeper. Years and years now of small little traumas attaching themselves to her insides like little leeches, little pinpricks of pain every day that were barely anything in the moment but built up over the years until she was just one big, open wound, death by a thousand cuts in the truest sense of the phrase.
So maybe she was justified in writing something depressingly cringey. But geez, this stuff had burrowed so far inside her she hadn’t even known how much it actually hurt until she was putting her pen to paper and out spilled it all, pages and pages of sad, bitter lines, of empty wishes she knew could no longer come to fruition just by the nature of this life, the path she had decided to walk all those years ago when all she had done was say yes .
She wrote it all down, for days and days, and the tiny wishes inside her grew bigger, gaining traction until they almost formed into words she might speak out loud, if only she could find it in her to do so.
//
She was sitting on the couch, reading her book and drinking her coffee, when Beca finally rolled downstairs for the morning. She immediately swooped her arms around Emily’s neck from behind and pressed a kiss so slobbery to Emily’s cheek that Emily crinkled her nose, despite the smile on her face.
“Wow,” she chuckled. “Good morning to you, too. Anybody I should be thanking for the good mood and this lovely spit on my face?”
“Your mom,” Beca said.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Original.”
“No,” Beca laughed, and Emily felt her smile against her neck. “Your mom for real. Happy birthday, babe.”
“What?”
Beca leaned forward and to the side slightly so she could look at Emily. “Dude. Did you forget your own birthday?”
Holy crap. “I… no, we haven’t been here that long, have we?” But… “Oh my God. Oh my God?”
Beca laughed. “It checks out. Once you turn thirty, your memory just goes , you know?”
“I’m thirty.” Emily blinked.
“Dirty and thriving, right? What’s that one you made me watch? Um.”
Emily snorted. “ Flirty and thriving, you dummy. Thirty, flirty , and thriving.”
“Yeah, that.”
Emily slumped back into the couch. “How did I forget my birthday?”
“Well, you’ve had a lot going on. We came out here to get away from things like dates and calendars .” Beca pressed another kiss to her cheek. “I’m gonna make you breakfast. French toast.”
“With --”
“Yes, with whipped cream. From a spray can. Nothing but the best for my girl.” She kissed Emily again, then made her way to the kitchen.
Emily bit her lip around a smile. “Wow, I’m spoiled.”
“Yeah,” Beca called from the kitchen. “And don’t forget it!”
Wow, Emily thought, distantly listening to the sounds of Beca clanking around the kitchen. Thirty.
Thirty.
Thirty????????
She guessed the years had passed and she had acknowledged them one-by-one, come and gone, but geez. Could she really be thirty? Sometimes she really still felt twenty-two, stuck in that perennial last semester of college. Or even twenty-four, that first year she had been with Beca, which had seemed to last an infinity and also a second.
But no, she was thirty.
And suddenly it all sunk in. The past eight years of her life, from that moment she’d said yes to where she was now. Is this what she had intended, when she was just twenty-two, embarking on a once-in-a-lifetime European tour with her former collegiate a cappella team?
The obvious answer was hell no . She hadn’t intended any of it.
Not the music career, the money, the spotlight that had launched her to superstardom, to becoming one of the most well-known names in the world.
Ugh, it almost made her sick to think about now.
She very suddenly wanted none of it, would give it all up in a heartbeat if she were able to, if she could go back to that twenty-two year-old girl and tell her not to do it. She would spurn it all, every last bit.
But no , she thought, listening to Beca curse at something in the kitchen. That wasn’t entirely true.
Just because she had some things she didn’t want, didn’t also mean she didn’t have everything she did .
She had Beca. And wasn’t that enough?
“Em,” Beca said, coming up behind her again and breaking her from her thought-spiral. “Smell this.”
Emily turned her nose toward Beca’s held out hand --
And got a face full of whipped cream.
She gasped, mouth falling open, and Beca took the opportunity to press the nozzle of the can into her mouth. Emily sputtered and Beca cackled.
“ Beca!”
She wiped the whipped cream from her eyes, cupping it in her hand, and flung it back at Beca. Beca’s laughter turned to shrieks as Emily lunged for her, pulling her down on the couch.
“You’re dead.” She wrestled the can from Beca’s hands. Easily, considering she was so much bigger and stronger, and Beca was laughing so hard she was tearing up, her grip weak. She pinned Beca down and held the nozzle against her lips. “Open up, punk.”
“Punk!” Beca gasped out, her entire body shaking with laughter. “Jesus.”
Emily pressed the nozzle and a glob of whip went into Beca’s mouth, open in silent laughter. Beca squealed, sputtering to swallow, her face so red now it was turning purple. She gasped for breath, hands batting at Emily.
“Mercy,” she wheezed.
“No!” Emily grinned sadistically and pressed the nozzle again, drawing a moustache over Beca’s lip.
“I’m…” Beca inhaled desperately, finally grabbing onto the can again weakly, body still shaking uncontrollably. “Stop! I’m gonna pee! Stop!”
Emily halted, still holding the can threateningly above Beca’s face as she managed to take enough deep breaths to stop laughing. “You’re so freaking rude.”
Beca nodded, furiously wiping at her eyes. “What? I thought you wanted whip?”
“On the french toast! Not a whip facial!”
“Oh. I misunderstood. My bad.” Beca grinned at Emily’s expression. She gestured toward her face, practically covered in whip. “Hey, wanna make out?”
Emily crinkled her nose in displeasure, but leaned down to kiss Beca sweetly anyway, and consequently got whip all over her own mouth. “You’re lucky you’re hot because you have the very mature sense of humor of a teen boy.”
Beca snorted, devolving into giggles once again. “Wow. Cougar.”
Emily responded by unleashing another spray of whip into Beca’s laughing mouth.
//
She spent her thirtieth birthday doing nothing. She caught up on her Netflix to-watch list, read, journaled.
Beca cooked her dinner and they ate out on the patio, the weather perfectly warm and the view of the lake beautiful.
Evening found them in the hot tub, reminiscing about Beca’s thirtieth birthday, which was much more exciting thanks to a surprise party/Bella reunion organized by Chloe. It had been difficult to pull off, Emily remembered, because she'd had to be busy enough that day that Beca wouldn’t be suspicious of a clear schedule, but nothing so involved she couldn’t slip away that night for the party.
That had been fun, Emily thought, and the last time she’d seen most of the Bellas. She’d gone on tour shortly after, and then there had been a new album, and press stuff, and another tour, and… ugh.
“So any big plans for thirty?" Beca asked, drifting up into Emily's lap and clasping the edge of the hot tub behind her. "Gonna do anything crazy?”
Emily frowned and tilted her head back, bracketed between Beca's hands, and stared up at the sky, at all the stars starting to shine their way through the blanket of night.
“I think I’m gonna quit.”
The words were out before she’d even had time to register them, and her entire chest twisted with anxiety as soon as they slipped past her lips without permission.
Because this was her life . This was not just some day-job she could up and quit. At this point, quitting would not even make much difference, would it? She would always be recognizable, anywhere she went. Her life, her celebrity, was as they said, toothpaste in the tube. Once squeezed out, you could not put it back, and Emily knew she could no longer have any kind of normalcy in her life. Not like the other Bellas, so fresh on her mind. Not like Chloe and her dog clinic. Not like Flo and her east coast juice franchise. Not even like Fat Amy, who had gone back to Australia with her money and was living it up, investing in whatever she felt like.
No, Emily could not quit , not like that. But she could stop. She could fade out. Could become some has-been. She could quit music, quit touring, quit her fans. She could give up, let herself become immortalized in what already was, let that speak for her forever, nothing new, her fame just a fading specter getting weaker until her reputation was all that was left, lingering behind like a ghost.
This could be the end of her, of Emily Junk . She could quit that girl and start anew once again.
She could just… quit.
Beca didn’t ask what she meant. She didn’t say anything at all. She hesitated for the slightest of moments, perhaps shocked into nonmovement by the unexpected answer, then wrapped her arms around Emily and squeezed.
Emily hugged her back, pressing her nose in Beca’s neck and holding tight, feeling like if she let go now she might drift away.
Finally, Beca pulled back. Just a few inches. She looked at Emily seriously, her fingers, warm and wet from the hot tub, coming up to Emily’s cheek. “Is that what you want? To… quit?”
Emily shrugged. Around them, the jacuzzi bubbled. The sky was so vast above them, the lake so glossy and still in the distance, the forest like a barrier, shutting them out from the rest of the world.
It was so quiet out here. There was so much space to think, to feel. She had not had so much space or time or quiet to think or feel in so long.
She didn’t quite know how to navigate these thoughts.
“I don’t know,” she said after a minute, her voice cracking, tears springing up in her eyes once again. “Kind of.”
It’s not like she hadn’t thought about it before over the years. She thought about it often. But not seriously. The implications were much too deeply rooted. Everything she had worked for, everything she had endured. The fans. Her life with Beca.
It was all just so much.
“I don’t know,” she said again. “Is it even possible anymore?”
Beca frowned. “I mean, contractually, yes.” Beca’s eyes searched her face, her thumb rubbing over her cheek. “But in other ways, I’m not sure.”
Emily sniffled, reaching up to wipe at her eyes, but her hands were wet from the hot tub and now her face was wet and just… She heaved out a sob.
“I’m so tired, Bec. They never leave me alone. They always have something to say. And I can never do anything right or please anyone and I just… I don’t know how to separate it. I can’t separate that life from me. ”
Beca nodded. “I get it. I mean, I don’t. But I think I do.”
“It’s like… In the beginning, there was this sudden like, mixing of everything. Of our home life, our studio life, our careers, our personal life, our dating life. None of them felt separate, and I liked it, it felt good, like I was, I dunno… being swept away in some kind of dream.” She sniffled again, her voice watery. “We were falling in love. And not that there weren’t things then that were tiring or there weren’t problems, but they were, you know, manageable . And now it’s just like, all these things are so twisted together and I can’t even distinguish anymore where the line can be drawn. Like the parts of me that exist for other people and the parts that exist just for us and for me and… I just feel like I’m gone. I’m not even here anymore. It’s just that weird combination of me that exists for everyone and...” She sighed, pressing her hands to her face. “That doesn’t even make sense, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Beca hummed. “No,” she said softly. “I know. I know you can’t really turn it off, but…” She shrugged. “I see you. I see all the parts they don’t get to see and you’re not gone. You’re still the person I fell in love with. You’re still a weird, goofy nerd. And…” Beca hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “They see it, too, you know. And I know you’ve been avoiding looking, but I’ve seen what they’ve been saying the past weeks. They’ve been defending you and standing behind you. You change their lives every day just like you change mine.”
More tears pushed past Emily’s eyelids and she tried to take a deep breath to fend them off. “That’s just it, though,” she huffed, frustrated. “They think they know me, but they don’t. They just know what I’m supposed to be and they like that version. It’s the same version other people hate, but these people just decided they like her. They don’t really know.”
“Well. I know.”
“Yeah,” Emily agreed. “And you’re about it. So maybe I should just quit before I…” She bit her tongue before her doubts could cause more problems. She sighed. “Maybe I should just quit.”
Beca looked at her for a long moment. “I support whatever you think is best, Em. If that’s what you want, then I’ll help.”
“Really?”
Beca scrunched her nose. “Yeah, dude. I just want you to be happy. I’ve hated seeing you like this. So if you think quitting will make you happy, then I’m here for you. I’ll make the calls.”
Emily’s heart wrenched, the tears flowing freely now. She pushed at her eyes. “It would disappoint so many people.”
“Maybe,” Beca grunted in agreement. “But your fans just want you to be happy, too. And anyway… so what? This is your life. Not theirs.”
Emily paused, looking Beca in the face. “What about you?”
Beca frowned. “What about me?”
“Would you be disappointed?”
It was hard to gauge Beca’s expression in the dark, but Emily saw her blink slowly. She let out a deep exhale. “I just want you to be okay,” she said quietly. “I feel like… I saw that things weren’t so great and I just… I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do. But I should’ve done something . I’m sorry, Em.” Emily was surprised to hear Beca’s voice crack. “I feel like I let you down.”
Emily wasn’t even trying to stop the tears now. “You didn’t,” she managed to get out. She pulled Beca back to her, hugging her tight, pressing her face to Beca’s shoulder. “I couldn’t do any of this without you. I love you.”
Beca sniffled, letting out a throaty chuckle. “I love you, too. Everything’s a bit messed up, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Emily rasped out. “Really messed up.”
Beca hummed, her arms squeezing tight around Emily. “We’re okay, though? Me and you?”
Emily nodded feverishly. “Of course we are.”
“Okay,” Beca said weakly. She exhaled, her nose in Emily’s hair. “I can, uh… Call Theo if you want me to. And see what he says about you, like, stepping back. Or. Whatever.”
Emily hesitated. She pressed a kiss to Beca’s bare shoulder, then pulled back again. “It’s a big decision. Maybe I should just... wait.”
Beca frowned, looking at Emily thoughtfully. “I mean. If it’s what you want…”
“I don’t know,” Emily groaned. She wiped her eyes again, feeling the tears starting to slow down now. “Can I just, like… see how I feel in a few days?”
Beca smiled, small and a little sad. “Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need. This is your life, Em.”
Emily nodded, the words hitting her in a bittersweet kind of way. “It doesn’t feel like it is most of the time.”
“Mmm.” Beca nodded, then scrunched her nose teasingly. “Hey, some birthday, huh? Almost makes you miss the Bellas obnoxiously taking over everything, doesn’t it?”
Emily gave a feeble chuckle. “Yeah. Almost.”
“At least you didn’t have Fat Amy pop out of a stripper cake for you.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“You think you got it bad? I’m scarred for life.”
Emily finally smiled. “Poor baby.”
“Yes, thank you for acknowledging my trauma.”
“It’s what I’m here for.” She leaned in, kissing Beca sweetly. “Hey. Thanks for loving me.”
Beca raised her eyebrows playfully. “You say that like it’s hard.”
“Ugh,” Emily huffed. “Stop, I’ll cry again and I’m getting really sick of crying.”
Beca laughed. “Okay fine. I’ll never speak again.”
“Great thanks.”
Beca rolled her eyes fondly, biting back a smile, and it was so expected, so familiar, that warmth rushed through Emily, immediately taking hold in her chest, and she felt, for the first time in so, so long, that she wasn’t sitting on the brink of just losing it completely.
Maybe, she distantly thought again, unable to take her eyes off Beca’s face, maybe this trip really was for the best.
//
“C’mon, baby, keep up.”
“This -- is not -- fair,” Beca grumbled, each word punctuated by a ragged inhalation of breath. “You have fit-popstar-bod and extendo arms, like. Can you please just chill?”
“No,” Emily laughed. “This was your idea.”
After a few weeks of inactivity, restlessness did, as Beca predicted, finally catch up with Emily. So she suggested to Beca that they get out and do something, and Beca had lit up, dragging Emily out to the shed behind the house where she had, apparently, found a pair of kayaks.
Bemused at Beca’s unexpected excitement, Emily had hauled the kayaks down to the lake, they had stripped down to their swimsuits, and off they went.
They had paddled off from the dock just twenty minutes ago, though, and it seemed like Beca’s eagerness was fading with her energy.
“Why were you so excited about this anyway?” Emily chuckled, stopping her paddling so Beca could catch up. “You know you have like, no upper body strength.”
“Okay, don’t be fucking rude,” Beca grunted. “And because in college -- okay this was before you came, obviously -- Chloe made us do some stupid team bonding thing where we kayaked around the campus lake. And believe it or not, it was actually kind of fun.” Beca splashed up next to her. “But now that I’m remembering it, those were two-person kayaks and I was tipsy and partnered with CR. I think she did all the heavy work.”
Emily shook her head. “Too bad she’s not here now to pick up the slack. It’s just you and your cute little stick-arms.”
Beca shot her a glare, which obviously had no effect on Emily whatsoever. She pushed her sunglasses up on her nose and slouched down in the kayak, crossing her arms behind her head. “Fine,” Beca said, the picture of relaxation. “If you’re gonna be like that, I’ll just watch. Get a tan.” She grinned at Emily. “Enjoy the popstar-bod view.”
Emily snorted. “And what, I’m just supposed to paddle around in circles for your entertainment?”
“Would you? Thanks.” Beca leaned back against the kayak seat, closing her eyes with a sigh, a smirk playing about her lips.
Holding back an epic eye roll, Emily lifted her oar up in Beca’s direction and waved it over her head. A few droplets dripped over Beca and she shivered.
“Hey!” She grunted, but didn’t adjust her position. “That’s cold. Watch it.”
“Oops. My bad.” Emily let the oar fall back in the water. Then she tilted it at an angle, and pushed up and toward Beca, sending a wave of water into the kayak.
Beca shot upright, drenched. “Emily!” She shrieked.
Emily’s body shook with laughter. “Oh, sorry, babe, I haven’t got the hang of this paddling thing yet.”
“You did that on purpose, you little shit!”
Emily let her mouth fall open in faux-offense. “That’s hurtful, Bec. I would never.”
Beca scoffed. “Don’t make that face like you’re so innocent.”
Emily pouted. “I’m just a girl learning to kayak, trying to please the love of her life, whose idea this was, by the way.”
“I… You…” Beca huffed, lips biting over a smile. “Don’t even.”
“What? It’s just a little water.” She angled her oar and tugged it through the water, drifting closer to Beca. “You know how to swim, right?”
“Yes, I know how to - NO .” Beca shot out, suddenly seeming to realize what Emily was planning. “Do not .”
Emily grinned. “Don’t what? This?” She leaned over and pushed Beca’s shoulder, her arm just long enough to rock the kayak a little.
“Emily.” Beca scrambled for her own oar with one hand and pointed at Emily with the other. “I swear to fucking God.”
“Oh?” Emily pushed her again, the kayak wobbling dangerously. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I’m -- I’ll… Emily! I’m gonna…” Beca frantically tried to push away, but the waves they were making with the oars lapped around them, pushing her to and fro, there and back, away then close again.
Emily smirked, ready to move in for the kill. “Mmm, very threatening. You’re soooo scary.”
“ Emily !” Beca shrieked as Emily reached for her again, but she seemed to realize it was futile and plugged her nose just in time for Emily to flip the kayak and send Beca tumbling into the lake.
Beca’s head immediately popped up above the water and she angrily wiped her eyes. “You’re so fucking rude.”
Emily’s entire body shook with laughter. “Uh huh.”
Beca stared at her, lips twitching. “Ugh. Stop laughing.”
“No,” Emily giggled.
Beca huffed, but Emily could see she was amused. She shook her head, then dipped back under the water for a long moment. When she emerged again, she was grinning widely, pushing back her wet hair, her eyes shining an unfairly pretty blue against the water, the cloudless sky.
Emily’s heart panged, chest still heaving with laughter. Before Beca could retaliate, she set her oar down next to her in the kayak, then dove after Beca into the water.
It was cold, but not unbearable. It felt good on her hot skin and she treaded water for a second, staying submerged until she couldn’t hold her breath anymore. She popped up next to Beca.
Beca was giving her an amused look. “Having fun, I see.”
Emily scrunched her nose, reaching for Beca in the water and wrapping her arms around her waist. “Bec.”
“Hmm?”
Emily looked at Beca looking at her for a long moment, a strange, carefree happiness fluttering in her chest as they just took each other in, nose-to-nose. She hadn’t felt so light in a long, long time.
“Thanks for taking me on this trip,” Emily said quietly. She reached up to brush a lock of wet hair behind Beca’s ear. Underwater, their legs brushed, moving to keep them afloat. “I just… I really appreciate you. I don’t think I say it enough.”
Beca scoffed. “You say it all the time.”
“Yeah, well. It’s still not enough.”
Beca rolled her eyes. “I’m the one who doesn’t say it enough. You’re a force and it still overwhelms me. Even after all these years.”
Emily hummed. “If I’m anything it’s because of you, so.”
“No,” Beca said, tone dipping toward fierce. “That’s not true. What you do -- what you’re capable of -- it’s just crazy. It amazes me everyday. And you’re still so…”
Beca trailed off and Emily smiled knowingly. “Yeah, I’m not still so whatever , am I?”
“Yes,” Beca said, no hesitation. “You still are . It’s just tucked away a little.” She circled her arms around Emily’s neck. “It’s like… Private. Just for me. It’s kind of hot, actually. Getting you all to myself.”
Emily’s eyebrows shot up at the same time as her heart dropped. “Oh yeah?” She chuckled. “Was that your master plan? Whisk me away for a few months so you don’t have to share me?”
“No,” Beca smirked. “But it’s worked out pretty well in my favor hasn’t it?”
“Wow. Lucky you.”
“Yes,” Beca agreed. “Lucky me.” She leaned in and kissed Emily softly, lips cool from the water. “It doesn’t change anything, though,” Beca mumbled against her lips.
Emily paused, her nose brushing Beca’s, eyebrows furrowing. “Doesn’t change anything about what?”
“That you still need to pay for your crimes .”
And her hands, still wrapped around Emily’s shoulders, pushed downward, dunking Emily underwater. Emily had just enough foresight to shut her eyes, but she still got a mouthful of lakewater.
She kicked back to the surface, sputtering, as Beca pushed away from her, laughing loudly. Emily lunged for her and Beca instinctively sent a wave of water splashing in her face. Emily turned away for the briefest of seconds, then gave chase again until she was close enough to grab Beca’s arm.
“We’re even! We’re even!” Beca screamed as Emily dug her fingers into Beca’s side. “Wait! Stop! STOP!”
Emily stopped. “What, can’t take a little payback?”
Beca shook her head, still laughing, but her eyes widened. She pointed behind Emily. “Um. We’re getting stranded.”
Emily whirled around, confused, and then realized they had drifted a good twenty feet from the kayaks. “Shoot.”
“Didn’t think that through, did you?” Beca sniffed teasingly, laughing at Emily’s eye roll.
Grinning, Emily dunked Beca once more under the water, just because she could, then started swimming toward the kayaks, her body shaking with laughter.
//
Emily had avoided her social media for the entirety of the trip, but they’d been there for six weeks and she was starting to get a little stir crazy being so shut out from the world.
She figured Instagram was her safest bet, and one evening after dinner when they were chilling on the couch, Emily got brave enough to open the app.
And immediately gasped at, like, the third post.
Beca looked over at her from the other side of the couch, expression worried. “What? What is it?”
“Jake got married!”
“Jake? Oh. Arlen.” Beca rolled her eyes, slouching back into the cushions now that it was apparent there wasn’t any actual urgency. “Hm. Good for him, I guess.”
Emily poked at Beca with her toe. She had never understood Beca’s disgruntlement of Jake, especially outside of the whole accidentally-married debacle. “Don’t be salty.”
Beca grunted. “Whatever. I hope his second marriage works out better than his first.”
“Oh my God. You know neither of us count that as a marriage,” Emily chuckled. “Why are you like this?”
“Because,” Beca sniffed petulantly. “It’s annoying that that bland piece of Wonder Bread got to marry you before I did.”
Emily paused, lips pulling upward involuntarily. “That’s… kind of sweet, actually.”
“Yeah,” Beca said hotly. “Sweeter than any line he could come up with.”
Emily chuckled. “You already won my heart, you know. You don’t have to convince me you’re better than he is every time.”
Beca grunted again. “Well. Whatever.”
“Yeah,” Emily teased. “Whatever.”
She went back to her Instagram scrolling, catching up on everyone’s lives and posts from the past six weeks. She thought about making a post, but… she wouldn’t know what to say. A thank you? An apology? An update on… her mental health?????? A pic of her and Beca from the trip?
She glanced up to ask Beca what she thought, only to find Beca already staring at her.
She raised her eyebrows. “What?”
Beca started, clearly not expecting to be caught staring. “Nothing,” she said, and glanced away, a blush rising in her cheeks. Which was… well. Not completely weird; Beca still got self-conscious sometimes when she’d had a particularly cheesy thought, but it had become increasingly rarer over the years.
Needless to say, Emily was intrigued.
She poked Beca with her toe again. “What’s with you? Why you blushing over there?”
“I’m not,” Beca defended, but it made her blush even pinker and after glancing at Emily’s face again, she pinched her nose in frustration. “Can you not be overwhelming for, like, one second, please?
“I’m not even doing anything,” Emily laughed. “But okay.” She made a show of going back to her phone, biting her lip over her smile.
After what felt like an eternity, she heard Beca sigh, and then, “Do you ever, like, think about, um, us…” She trailed off and Emily glanced up again, amused.
“Sure,” she said. “I think about us all the time.”
“ Emily ,” Beca huffed, pinching her nose again. “I mean. Like. Ugh. Like getting married.”
Emily playfully raised her eyebrows. “Why, are you proposing?”
Beca scoffed, but she was now blushing so furiously it had migrated down her neck. “ No . You would know if I…” She took a deep breath. “I’m just asking if you think about it? Like… for the near future.”
Emily softened. It’s not like they hadn’t talked about it before, but it was always so abstract.
When we’re married…
When we have kids…
At our wedding…
Emily had always thought, and had assumed Beca thought so too, that they both just already kind of considered themselves in a relationship on par with marriage, even if they hadn’t made it official or legal.
In her head, anytime she’d gone down that line of thought, it had always been something that they’d do eventually, when they weren’t so busy, when Emily didn’t have a tour coming up, an album, when they could settle and breathe for a moment.
But maybe it was something Beca had been thinking about, and Emily thought with a pang, maybe something she had even wanted to talk about. Maybe Emily had missed the signs.
“Is it something you think about?” She asked instead of answering, sitting up and leaning toward Beca.
Beca shrugged. “Well. We kinda already feel married to me.”
Emily shot her a smile. “Yeah, me too.”
“But,” Beca scratched at her nose self-consciously. “I guess it wouldn’t be like… the worst thing, or whatever, if we made it official. Like with a wedding and party and, um, stuff.”
“Definitely not the worst thing,” Emily teased.
Beca rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. “Do you always have to tease?”
“Do you always have to be so cute?”
“Ugh. Forget it,” Beca groaned. “Let’s get divorced.”
“Sure,” Emily said. “Wouldn’t be my first.”
Beca’s mouth fell open. Emily let out a snort of laughter and Beca snapped her mouth shut, scowling. “Whatever,” she grumbled. “He doesn’t count.”
“Great. Glad we’re finally on the same page.”
Beca rolled her eyes, but she was laughing, and Emily's heart fluttered happily.
//
The last week of their trip arrived and Emily grew restless.
She had not yet decided how exactly she wanted to move forward with her life. She both did and didn’t want to quit. There was absolutely no part of her that wanted to be under a microscope anymore. She did not want to hear anything anyone had to say, good or bad or neutral.
But parts of her struggled to let go. She didn’t want to disappoint the people who had been so integral to her life, who had given her so much, who felt so deeply about her. The fans. The people at the label who had always supported her. Beca.
Emily could not bear, in any way, to disappoint Beca. Because her career, her life, was so intertwined with Beca’s that quitting did not feel like some singular decision she could make that affected just her. There was nothing she could do that wouldn't slide Beca in a different direction.
The worst part was that she couldn’t even tell how Beca felt about it.
“Whatever you want,” Beca said.
“I support you. I’ll make the calls,” Beca assured her.
“I just want you to be happy,” Beca murmured quietly, as if it was because of her that Emily had felt any unhappiness, as if she wasn't the only reason Emily hadn’t become completely unmoored, the only reason Emily had been able to follow the twists and turns of her heart, venture to the edge of that drop, and do nothing but stand and look.
Emily felt like a broken record trying to bring it up, hoping to see some crack in Beca’s resolute determination to support her, but Beca wouldn’t budge.
“I hate it when you let me make my own decisions,” Emily whined one night when they had just settled in for bed, the room dark around them.
Beca had chuckled, rolling over to press up against Emily under the covers. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s hard.”
“It’s your life,” Beca said. “I’m just here for moral support.”
“Can you be unsupportive for, like, one second?”
“No.”
So Emily struggled. Time passed until there was just this last week left and still, she had no decisions to show for it. Her anxiety waffled even more, up and down like a rollercoaster, when Beca suddenly suggested they go into town to eat on their anniversary.
“You haven’t been anywhere in literal months. Let’s just go eat. It’ll be fine, I promise.”
On one hand, Beca was right. She was desperate to see other people. It’s just… she wasn’t so desperate for other people to see her. It was always an ordeal. Stares, pictures, autographs.
But, Emily reasoned, by this time next week they would be home, and she’d have to get used to it again.
So she agreed.
She spent the day fending off her anxiety by flipping through her journals, looking back at what she’d written while they were away. Beca had gone to the store in town for a few last minute groceries, and Emily had the house to herself. She sat herself down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, pen twirling between her fingers, eyebrows furrowed.
Something was pulling at her.
She flipped back and forth between a few pages, dog-earing the corners.
Hm. There was something here. Something different . But still something.
It tugged at her.
She jotted down a few lines from one page. A few lines from another. She hummed something, which was really nothing, but could be something.
Numbly, almost without thinking, she scrawled a chord progression down.
Okay, wait. She stood up, grabbing the journal, and walked into the living room, desperately trying to hold the melody in her head.
She sat herself at the dusty piano, lifting the fallboard. Hesitantly, she plucked at a C, her heart dropping a little bit when it miraculously sounded in tune.
Okay okay okay. Hm.
She took a deep breath and started to sing. She stopped.
She scrawled things out, rearranged phrases. She tried Fs into Gs and Cs into Bs and her neck hurt and her back ached and still, it pulled at her, there was something here, something new, something that maybe wasn’t --
“Hey.”
She jumped out of her skin, shooting off the piano bench.
“Beca!” She clutched at her heart, unsure why it felt like she was a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Her face had turned bright red, her heartbeat in her ears.
Beca chuckled, giving her a puzzled smile. “Sorry,” she said weakly. “Thought you heard me come in.”
“No, I was… I was just -- well.” It was pretty obvious what she’d been doing. Not that she wasn’t supposed to be, you know, writing songs. It’s just... it was so different than her usual bop. So slow and emotional and a little too autobiographical for comfort.
“That sounds... different,” Beca murmured, stepping up to the piano and looking at Emily’s journal as if she could decipher anything under all the scribbles and arrows. Emily had the urge to cover it, but she had never, not once, been too self-conscious to show Beca her songs. That was not the nature of their working relationship. Emily wrote a song and Beca produced it. That’s just how things worked, how they had always worked.
And even now, she looked at Beca’s face, slightly nervous, but Beca didn’t seem to see anything beyond the song. Her eyes had narrowed, that familiar focus glazing over.
“Huh,” she hummed, lips mouthing the words. She absentmindedly reached across Emily to play the chord progression of the chorus that Emily had half-heartedly scribbled down. “Huh,” she repeated. Emily read the song over her shoulder as Beca tapped at the keys.
(VERSE 1)
I didn't mean to go where I did
But it never occurred to me to stop
Above the treeline, the shadows, the wood
There was something alluring in that drop
It had felt so good just to look...
(CHORUS)
There's an intimacy in the way you speak my name
A privacy here that I can't explain
And anyway...
I'm not sure that I want to
Just know when all was well
I -- thought of you
(VERSE 2)
I thought I was gone,
What’s her and what’s still me?
If you looked out the window
What would you see
I’m just a fading specter among the trees
(CHORUS)
There's an intimacy in the way you speak my name
A privacy here that I can't explain
And anyway...
I'm not sure that I want to
Just know when it all went to hell
I -- thought of you
(BRIDGE)
When the earth rumbled loud
I thought I might stop breathing
The sky opened up
Thought my heart stopped beating
Your hands in mine, EKG
Thought I might dissolve
But you still saw me
(CHORUS)
There's an intimacy in the way you speak my name
A privacy here that I can't explain
And anyway...
I'm not sure that I want to
Just know when all was well
(It all went to hell)
I -- thought of you
(OUTRO)
I -- thought of you
I just thought of you
Emily started to relax a little, captivated by the expression on Beca’s face, feeling that all-familiar rush start to build in her, the one that always filled her when she and Beca worked on something together. It was like some kind of high they’d chase, building off each other, like their brains were in sync, like they didn’t even have to speak to know what the other was thinking.
Emily was getting lost in it, that expression on Beca’s face.
And then Beca froze, going still, and Emily’s heart stopped.
Beca inhaled shakily, then took a step away from the piano. She cleared her throat. “I… uh. I like that. It’s… different.”
“Yeah,” Emily shrugged weakly.
“I didn’t know you were writing new stuff. Thought you were, um… taking a step back.”
“It’s not… I didn’t write it, like, on purpose. And I still don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Gotcha.” Beca glanced back at the paper. Her lips quirked upward. “That about me?”
Emily let out a deep breath, deflating under Beca’s teasing. “Okay, you don’t have to act so surprised when a song is about you.”
“It’s just flattering, is all,” Beca grinned slyly. “Being your muse.”
Emily rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. “Thought you’d be over it after we’ve been dating for so long.”
“Mmm, longer than that,” Beca teased. “Because I was your cute little crush muse before we even dated. You wanted to do a gay duet with me.”
“Oh my God,” Emily whined, unsure why that still never failed to embarrass her, even after all this time. “Do you always have to go back to that?”
“Yes,” Beca smirked. “It’s too funny not to.”
Emily groaned. “Can’t this be the year we forget about it? Seventh year’s a charm.”
“Mmm… no.” Beca grinned, stepping up in Emily’s space and tugging on her shirt. “Hey, uh.” She frowned. “Speaking of seven years… Have I kissed you yet today?”
Emily scrunched her nose, shaking her head.
Beca hummed, looping her arms around Emily’s neck and pushing up on her tip-toes. “Better change that then,” she murmured, and then pressed their lips together.
Emily sighed into the kiss, basking in the familiar feeling of Beca against her, warm and tender. The way her whole body went numb in the same way, even after all this time. The way it felt like something her subconscious must have fabricated, an escapist fantasy to fulfill all her most beautiful dreams. But no, as always, Beca was real.
And as always, she started to waver on her tiptoes, losing balance.
Emily pressed closer, squatting slightly to hook her arms around Beca’s thighs, and hoisted Beca off the floor.
“Mmpf,” Beca grunted, chuckling but used to this now, Emily’s signature move. Her legs wrapped around Emily’s waist. “God. I’m getting too old to be picked up like this.”
Emily scoffed, taking a few steps over to lean Beca back against the living room wall. “No you’re not.”
“Easy for you to say,” Beca grumbled, nipping at Emily’s lips lightly. “You’re literally in the best shape of your life. You and your hot tour-choreo-bod. My physical state, on the other hand, is slowly deteriorating.”
“I don’t get what that has to do with being picked up,” Emily said, moving her lips to Beca’s neck. “I’m doing all the work.”
“Okay, this is still a core workout for me, Emily. Especially when, ugh ,” Beca’s head fell back against the wall and her legs clenched around Emily’s waist, “when you do that.”
Emily hummed, sucking that spot on Beca’s neck again. “What, this?” Beca gasped, her hands scratching down Emily’s neck, under the collar of her shirt. Emily grinned. “Imagine you looked like this when that teenager walked into that elevator. Embarrassing.”
“Okay, you’re the one who was embarrassed,” Beca shot back. “You dropped me like I was nothing . So rude. And she had no idea who she just caught making out. Can you imagine if that had happened even five months later?”
Emily chuckled, kissing her way back toward Beca’s jaw. “No. Things would have been much different if it did, I’m sure.” She pulled back to look Beca in the face. Beca’s eyes met hers and softened. “I think that was the best day of my life.”
Beca raised a teasing eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. So many good firsts.” Emily tilted her head thinking. “First kiss with you. First elevator kiss. First hallway kiss. First apartment kiss. First time you called me your girlfriend. First time we had sex. First --”
“Okay,” Beca laughed. “Yeah. First everything right on the first day. I know.”
Emily grinned. “Well, not first everything .”
“No?”
“No. Because now we get to have first, um… first seven-year anniversary lake house living room sex.”
Beca rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “So specific.”
“Duh,” Emily grinned, leaning into kiss Beca again. “It’s how we get to keep having firsts. Keeps it interesting.”
“Mmm,” Beca hummed, nails softly scratching up Emily’s scalp. “Let’s do it then, because my abs are starting to burn.”
Emily laughed, spinning them around and walking them to the couch. She set Beca down, but Beca didn’t let go of her neck, so she eased on top of her, sighing when their bodies came into full contact.
It was a familiar comfort now, the way it was even that first time she’d laid on top of Beca like this, the way it had been every time since.
The way, Emily knew, it always would be.
//
Emily had been recognized.
It took all of five minutes. Five minutes they’d been in this diner. Not even a nice restaurant. A diner that could fit max twenty-five people and somehow, Emily had been recognized in five minutes.
Nothing had come of it yet, but behind the counter, she could see two waitresses talking to each other and glancing in her direction. Their waitress was older, or at least older than Emily and Beca, but the other must have been all of seventeen, and she clearly knew who Emily was.
Emily sighed and pulled her nondescript black hat lower on her forehead, more of a shield now than a disguise. She sank down in her seat, the ratty booth squishing under her weight. Across from her, Beca hadn’t noticed that they’d been made. Not surprising, really. Beca barely noticed stuff like that. She didn’t pay attention to random people unless they paid attention to her first, a consequence, Emily thought wistfully, of being famous in name only.
“I think I might get breakfast for dinner,” Beca said conversationally, one hand sliding over her menu, the other loosely wrapped around a warm mug of coffee.
Emily made a noise in acknowledgment, trying to keep her tone upbeat. Beca, who was so oblivious to everyone else, was always annoyingly in tune with Emily’s mood, and Emily was determined not to ruin the vibe of their anniversary, even if it was just casual and lowkey.
She could handle a few stares by a waitress in a diner. She’d had worse.
Much worse.
“How are we doing over here? You guys need a few more minutes?”
Emily looked up from her menu as their waitress sidled back to their table. She gave Emily a kind smile, then turned her gaze on Beca, who had let out a decisive hum.
“No, I think we’re good.” She looked up at Emily. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Emily murmured. They ordered and the waitress took it down easily enough, then left to go put the order in. Emily lowered her head again, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the woman usher the teenage waitress back into the kitchen with a goodhearted shooing gesture.
She sighed, settling even further into the booth, her fingers tapping restlessly on the tabletop.
Beca brushed their legs together under the table and shot Emily a happy grin. “See? So far so good.”
Emily scrunched her nose in a placating smile. “So far so good.”
“Can’t believe you ordered a salad,” Beca scoffed.
“I like salad,” Emily countered, smiling slightly at this familiar argument.
“Boring.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “You’re boring. It tastes good.”
“You’re not getting any of my bacon.”
Emily hummed in disbelief. “Sure.”
“I’m serious this time.”
“You’re serious every time. And yet…”
Beca huffed, grumbling something about illegal pouting and unfair advantages and Emily sunk into it, suddenly feeling much more at ease.
She forgot, for a second, that they were in public, that she was Emily Junk , that the last time she had been seen by anyone, she’d been crying herself silly on a sidewalk in New York. She forgot about everything that wasn’t Beca’s wry grin, her fingers lacing with Emily’s on the table even as they bickered, this gesture, these words, a familiar comfort.
It was just the two of them, together, enjoying a meal in peace.
“Know what we need?” Beca asked after they were done eating and the waitress had finished clearing their plates.
“What’s that?”
Beca raised her eyebrows. “Dessert.”
“Ugh,” Emily groaned, even though she knew she’d probably give in. “I’m full.”
“You are not full! You literally had salad .”
“Salad is filling, Beca!”
Beca rolled her eyes. “You’re not too full for dessert. We’re celebrating!”
“Celebrating?” The waitress said as she passed by their table again. “Someone’s birthday here?”
Beca hesitated, not typically one for divulging personal information to strangers. But then she straightened in her seat, turning to the waitress with a smile. “Anniversary, actually.”
“Oh, well, congratulations!” The waitress beamed. “How long?”
Beca glanced at Emily, her smile turning playful. “She’s put up with me for seven years, if you can believe that.”
The waitress also looked at Emily, who felt very warm at this attention. “Seven years is a long time to put up with someone, so she must have knocked you off your feet pretty good, huh?”
Emily nodded. “Sure did,” she said quietly, resisting the urge to pull her hat lower over her eyes.
“Oh, it’s the other way around,” Beca laughed. “ She picked me up off my feet. In an elevator. Actually,” Beca said, expression turning wistful. “She practically dislocated her shoulder chasing me into it, now that I think about it.”
Emily shrunk down in her seat, blushing furiously, horrified at this unusually chatty Beca. “Beca.”
“What? It’s true.” Beca grinned up at the waitress. “You have not been properly romanced if you haven’t been chased into an elevator, I’ll tell you that.”
The waitress smiled back at Beca, amused. “I’ll take your word for it.” She raised her eyebrows at Emily. “You like chocolate? I got a mean chocolate cake with your name on it.”
Emily glanced across the table to see Beca looking at her expectantly, clearly holding back a laugh. Emily sighed. She smiled up at the waitress as kindly as possible. “Yes, please. That sounds great.”
The waitress grinned. “Great. Be right back.” And then she was gone.
“Sorry for the attention,” Beca gave her an apologetic smile, her hand squeezing Emily’s across the table. “I couldn’t resist.”
“It’s fine.” Emily scrunched her nose. “Guess I didn’t realize you thought me throwing myself after you into an elevator was that romantic.”
Beca twisted her lips, holding back a smile. “It was sort of infuriating, actually. You not letting me fuck off like I wanted to. But maybe that’s why I thought it was so…” She trailed off and Emily watched, curiously, as pink crept into her cheeks. “Irresistible.”
Emily huffed out a laugh. “I honestly had this, like, totally irrational fear that if I let the doors close I was gonna lose you forever.”
Beca scoffed. “What? Not possible.”
“Okay, well, I said it was irrational.”
“Well, too late now, huh? You’re stuck with me forever, dude.” Beca smiled, but then it morphed into a frown. “Except for right this second, because I really gotta pee, so. Be right back. And if that lady comes back with the cake you better not eat it all, or else .”
“Or else what?”
Beca narrowed her eyes. “Just or else.”
“I’m shaking in my seat,” Emily deadpanned.
Beca gave her a look, then slid out of the booth, off to the bathroom. Emily sighed, sinking down into her seat, trying to control the goofy grin that wanted to split her face in two.
“Alright, here ya go,” said the waitress, setting a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it in the middle of the table. “Two forks.”
Emily smiled up at her gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” The waitress lingered, expression pensive. “Not to be intrusive, but take it from an old lady who’s been divorced… Do not let that one get away.” Emily immediately blushed, unsure what to say, but the waitress continued. “I honestly can’t imagine living the kind of life you live. I think I’d go crazy. All that attention. But I bet having someone by your side who still thinks you’re the most romantic thing they’ve experienced in seven years makes it almost bearable.”
Emily looked down at the table, her breath getting caught in her chest. She cleared her throat. “Um, yeah,” she said quietly. “It really does.”
“Like I said. Didn’t mean to be intrusive. It’s just…” Emily looked up in time to see the waitress roll her eyes. “Got some girl calling herself a junkie in the back and I had to say what the hell is a junkie and search her purse for paraphernalia. Junkie, she said, like duh Miranda . Like Junk.”
Despite herself, Emily laughed. “Not the greatest name, huh?”
“You know,” the waitress grinned. “I’ve heard worse.”
“Heard worse what?” Beca said, sliding back into the booth.
Emily chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You enjoy that cake,” the waitress said, smiling kindly at Emily.
“Thank you,” Emily said again, voice soft. The waitress winked as she walked away.
“Good idea on the chocolate cake,” Beca murmured around a forkful. “It’s delicious.”
Emily rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but agree. They finished it off quickly, then Beca paid the bill. Beca slid out of the booth, ready to leave, and Emily inconspicuously scrawled her autograph on the back of the customer copy of the receipt, leaving it on the table and hoping their waitress would pass it along.
She peered out of the car window on their way back to the house, thinking about all the ways her first outing back into the public might have gone. She guessed it went as best as it could have, all things considered.
In fact, compared to their other anniversary dinners, she was even inclined to include it in her top favorites, despite the early anxiety. No stuffy restaurants, no paparazzi lingering outside. Just Beca teasing her across the table, the two of them sharing dessert.
Emily marveled, very consciously in that moment, at how far they had come in so, so long. She thought about her first Treblemaker party, meeting Beca. The USO tour her senior year. Moving into their first apartment. All the years in between now and then.
Those versions of them felt so distant from where they were now, but they were all stacked up inside them, connected, one on top of the other like Legos, the construction of BecaAndEmily, so many years in the making.
How lucky she was, Emily thought. To have someone who could separate her from Emily Junk , that perfect plastic cutout. To have someone who would stand in the line of fire for her, who would storm a battlefield, who would hold her hand through every step, good and bad, and still want to be with her. Someone who would still smile shyly at her, blush when Emily complimented her, was still driven crazy by Emily’s overdone romantic moves.
How lucky, Emily thought. To still be in love after all this time.
She hadn’t realized she was tearing up until she sniffled and Beca worriedly looked over at her. “Hey, whoa . Are you crying over there? What’s wrong?”
Emily shook her head, furiously wiping at her eyes. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
“I…” Beca frowned. “Did they recognize you? Did someone say something?”
“Um, yeah, our waitress. But…” She shook her head in exasperation at herself, at these stupid tears. “It was really nice.”
“What? What was it?”
Emily heaved in a breath. “Nothing. Just like. Not to let you get away and that you probably make all this bad shit bearable and… nothing. It was nothing. I’m just…” She laughed at herself, running a hand over her face. “I just love you, that’s all. I’m just happy we’re together. That we’re still…” She trailed off, looking over at Beca, who kept glancing between Emily and the road every few seconds. “I’m just grateful that we’re still in love. That you’re still in love with me.”
“Oh.” Beca furrowed her eyebrows. “Okay? This isn’t new information.”
Emily choked out an exasperated laugh. “I know . I’m just overwhelmed. This has been a really overwhelming few months, okay?”
Beca softened. “Yeah. It has. Sorry. You’re right.” She smiled over at Emily, reaching across the console to grab her hand, her other still on the wheel of the car. Then she frowned. “Wait, should I go back and tip that chick more? She was chill. Hang on.”
She craned her neck looking for somewhere to turn around and Emily snorted. “Oh my God, you tipped enough! You tipped like forty percent.”
“Yeah, but she said all those nice things when she could’ve totally ruined the whole night! She deserves at least fifty.”
“Do not turn around, Beca, I swear to God.”
“I’m turning around!” Emily laughed, shoving at Beca’s arm, and Beca swatted her away. “Hey! Do not attack the driver!”
Emily slumped back in her seat. “Turn around and I will fling myself from this car.”
Beca snorted. “Wow. Diva.”
“Beca!”
Beca grinned, a cute little giggle escaping her mouth. But she reached back for Emily’s hand and tangled their fingers together.
A few minutes later, they arrived back at the house. Beca put the car in park and turned it off, letting the silence of the night settle over them.
“Hey,” she said, turning in her seat to look at Emily. “I’m happy we’re still in love, too.”
Emily scrunched her nose. “You know I don’t ‘put up with you’ right?” She asked, her free hand forming air quotes around the words. “I love you.”
Beca grinned. “Yeah, I know.” She brought Emily’s hand to her lips, kissing her knuckles. “I love you, too.”
Emily stared at her in the semi-darkness, feeling a rush of warmth throughout her whole body. In this moment, with one foot back in public, her problems seemed to loom in the near-distance, waiting for her when she once again stepped fully back into reality. But right then, looking at Beca, they seemed manageable. Like she might face them and come out on the other side, still hanging on.
“Bec,” she said quietly. “When we get back…” Beca looked at her curiously, her head tilting to the side, and Emily’s heart fluttered. “You know that stuff we were talking about last week?”
Beca furrowed her eyebrows. “What stuff?”
“Like… getting married and stuff.”
“Oh.” Beca’s eyes widened. “Yeah?”
“Well, when we get back, maybe we could… you know, start, like… doing that.”
Beca’s lips twitched and she chuckled. “Start getting married?”
“Well, we have to get engaged first. But after I propose to you. Yeah.”
Beca froze, her whole body going still. Then she gave Emily an indignant look. “Sorry, when you propose to me ? I don’t fucking think so.”
Emily grinned. “Try and stop me.”
“Oh,” Beca let out a breathy laugh. “Oh I will. You propose to me ? Absolutely not.”
“Hm, well. Guess we’ll see,” Emily grinned. Then she opened the door and stepped outside while she still had the last word, leaving Beca sputtering in the car behind her.
//
Happiness, Emily thought, was a weird feeling to be so consciously aware of.
When she had been younger, happiness had been sort of a default background state. The times she had felt sad, angry, depressed, anxious, frustrated… they stuck out in her mind so clearly because they had been the outliers, the emotions that had broken through her emotional routine.
Now, though, Emily was starkly aware of her happiness. It felt so peaceful. So attached to the moment. She knew it was fleeting, this conscious awareness, that it would not follow her around, it would not remain so easily detectable all the time.
Tomorrow she would go back, back to her reality where her happiness was always holding hands with some other emotion -- anxiety, uncertainty, a sense of falsehood -- and it would dissipate once again.
Not her happiness, necessarily, but this awareness of it. This very precise feeling she could hold onto, could look at from above and be grateful for.
It was their last day away, and they’d decided to spend it going on one last hike, a longer one they hadn’t yet tried. They’d packed up a lunch, their backpacks, and left early in the morning. Beca had grumbled about the distance, but it had been worth it, the destination at the end of the trail a gorgeous waterfall crashing into the river, the forest cool and quiet and private surrounding them on all sides.
Emily sighed as she sat there on their blanket, looking out at the view before her, trying to capture this tranquility in her mind. Something to come back to when it all got to be too much.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” Emily murmured, leaning back on her hands, eyes on the waterfall, the trees, the plantlife.
Beca hummed, her cheek pressed into Emily’s lap. “Right here in this spot. Just never move.”
“Yeah,” Emily said softly, voice slightly teasing. “We’d just sit here forever until the ivy grew all over us, our love eternally captured in the leaves. And then some other hikers would come along and find us and they’d envy us, forever caught in this moment in time, just me and you on pause while the world moves on around us.”
Beca rolled over on her back so she could look up at Emily. Her nose crinkled in amusement. “Wow. That’s quite the image.”
Emily shrugged. “I’m feeling some kind of way.”
“You’re always feeling some kind of way.” Beca scrunched her nose. “You know, I love that about you. I don’t get it, but I love it. You and your weird, beautiful poet brain.”
Emily blushed, that happiness pulsing in her stronger. “I think you’re the only person who cares about my weird poet brain. The rest only like it if it’s next to a good beat.”
Beca grunted in offense. “That’s not true. The beat just makes it accessible to the people who don’t care. The people who do care would still be there regardless. You speak to their gross, gooey feelings.”
Emily frowned, letting her head loll back so she could look at the sky, so blue and vast. She thought, once again, about when she had started her music career. The future had seemed to spread out in front of her like that blue sky, so full of possibility, no storms brewing in the distance. All she had wanted was to make music with Beca. She had not spared thought for if people liked her weird brain, for if they’d relate to her feelings.
When had her love of music become so much about other people? Would she still make it in this industry if she stopped caring?
Emily furrowed her eyebrows, thinking about that feeling that had swept her up the other day when Beca had walked in on her writing. She hadn’t been thinking about anything at that moment. Just the song, the way it had gripped her. Something new. Something different.
And Beca… that expression on her face. So addicting and invigorating, gripping Emily in a vice until she couldn’t look away, couldn’t even breathe .
Emily wanted that feeling still. She loved that feeling. And she knew, in her heart, that her relationship with Beca wasn’t dependent on that feeling, but it was still so much part of what had made Emily fall in love with Beca that she couldn’t imagine it just not existing anymore. That feeling was not recreatable in any other capacity. It was a beautiful vacuum, just Emily and Beca and music.
“I think I decided what to do,” Emily said suddenly, letting her gaze fall back to Beca’s face.
Beca peered up at her, curious. “Oh yeah?”
Emily nodded. “But first I just… I need to know what you want me to do.”
Beca frowned, like she’d had all the other times Emily had brought this up. “I want you to do what makes you happy.”
“No, yeah, I know , Bec. But…” She sighed. “I want to know what you think. My decision affects both of us. Not just me. This is your life, too. Our lives, our careers , they’re intertwined and…” She hesitated, then voiced the doubts that had been eating away at her for weeks. “Do you even care if I come back? Do you even want me to?”
Beca sat up, her head leaving Emily’s lap. She turned to face her, expression serious. “Of course I care. How could you think I don’t?”
“Because you’ve been acting so…” Emily grunted in frustration. “Cavalier. And I just need to know that we’re on the same page.”
Beca’s eyes searched her face. It seemed to take her forever to respond, but maybe it was just the anticipation of the moment, Emily’s heart twisting nervously as she waited. Finally, Beca sighed. “Of course I want you to come back,” she said quietly. “I love the career we built together. I love all the music we’ve made. But I know it’s been shitty, too. And I would rather you have peace of mind than be stuck on a path you hate just because it makes me happy.”
“I don’t hate it,” Emily countered. “I hate the things that come with it, but I don’t hate what we do. I love it. It makes me happy, too.”
Beca passed a hand over her face. “I miss when it was easy and it was just about music.”
“Me, too,” Emily smiled sadly. “But we can’t go back. It’s too late. So we have to decide how to go forward and what that means.”
“I guess.” Beca looked at her seriously. “So what do you want to do?”
Emily bit her lip. “I want to keep making music. With you. But…” She shrugged. “I think I want to maybe go in a different direction.”
Beca blinked at her, eyes widening in curiosity. “What kind of direction?”
“Like… Like maybe more what I showed you the other day. And less… what I’ve been doing.”
“Oh,” Beca’s lips twitched. “Like something more serious?”
Emily shrugged again. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to classify what we did before as not serious just because it was, like… poppy love songs.”
“Right.”
“But, yeah,” Emily said. “Maybe something with a more serious vibe. I don’t know. I wrote a lot of stuff while we were here. And I think it has potential.”
“Yeah,” Beca nodded. “I mean, what you were doing the other day…” Her eyes glazed slightly, like she was remembering. Then she shook herself out of it. “I have some ideas…”
Emily smirked. “I knew it. You had a look on your face, but I saw you shut it down.”
Beca smiled sheepishly. “Okay, well. I didn’t want to pressure you just because I was… excited.”
“Ha.” She grinned at Beca. “So you want to do this with me?”
Beca looked at her for a moment, eyes serious but so, so soft. She tilted her head, not quite smiling at Emily, but her entire body exuded an easy kind of happiness that swept Emily up in a rush of butterflies. “I want to do everything with you, Em.”
Emily’s heart stopped, her breath getting caught in her chest. How could Beca still do this to her after all this time?
“Okay,” she managed to say, feeling way too enamored for such a serious conversation with someone she had already devoted her life to a million times over. “I want to do everything with you, too.” She reached for Beca’s hands. “And maybe we could… get away like this more often. Maybe not for so long, but… It was nice, taking a break.”
Beca hummed in agreement. “Yeah,” she murmured, shooting Emily a blushy smile. “I felt really close to you out here. I’m glad we came.”
Emily was in love. She was so in love she couldn’t breathe. “Me, too.”
Beca grinned happily. Then she bit her lip, the smile tilting slightly toward a smirk. “So, uh. Can I see that song again?”
Emily chuckled and dug in her backpack, easily handing her journal over. She watched as Beca flipped through it, her eyes already narrowing in focus, and that familiar rush flowed through Emily, quick and bright.
And though they were far away, secluded in their own little world, for the first time in so long, Emily felt completely at home.
//
“Ready?”
It was a loaded question, one Emily didn’t have a good answer to. She was not ready, not really, to leave the bubble they’d been living in for the past two months. She was not ready for the stares, the constant criticism, the neverending spotlight of attention.
She would never be ready for that, never be ready to step back into the construct of Emily Junk , so perfect and plastic. But it was too late for that, and anyway, maybe things would be different now.
Maybe.
In any case, her suitcases were packed, her sunglasses on, and it was time to go.
“Ready,” she said, shooting Beca a small smile. “And I’m carrying my own bags to the car, so deal with it.”
Beca laughed, lifting her hands placatingly, before she grabbed her own bags and pushed out of the house. Emily hefted her backpack over her shoulder, grabbed her duffle by the strap and followed her out. She turned back around on the threshold, the floorboards creaking under her uncertain hesitation, and took a last look around.
She would miss this place. Miss the lake and the trees, the wide open sky and fresh air. Now they were back to New York, the polar opposite of this mountain getaway, and Emily wanted a minute -- no, a second , even -- to just take it in, to try to grab hold to the feeling of hope in her chest right now.
She knew, deep down, that things would not be easy when they got back. That her problems were still there, still waiting for her, that she had not escaped them by hiding away for a while.
But, she thought, maybe the time away had given her what she needed, quiet and space, a moment to breathe. It had felt like a pause in time, a place to sit and reflect, to heal, to figure out how to move forward. She would return to reality and things would not be any different, but maybe she was different. Just a little bit, just enough to know what she wanted, what she needed, how to move forward with her life, her career.
“Em! What are you doing? Let’s go.”
“Coming!”
Yes, she thought, savoring one final look around her. She had doubted it when they’d left, when Beca had first suggested it, but she knew now for certain. This trip had been for the best.
On that thought, she shut the door behind her, locked it, and followed Beca out to the car, where together, they’d return to their life, maybe not seamlessly, maybe not without problems or stress or anxiety, but together. And as long as that was true, as long as they were together, Emily knew they would make it out on the other side.
As long as they had each other, they would be okay.