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Nat rubs a thumb over the cuff of her leather jacket, staring into space as she waits. The pub chosen for tonight is dingy and packed to the brim. All those with nowhere else to go on New Year's gathered at shitty wooden tables that wobble when any weight is placed on them.
Nat sits in the corner, the lone fireplace roaring to her right. It’s close to being uncomfortably hot but Nat makes no move to remove her jacket. It’s a comforting weight around her shoulders.
The door creaks open and Nat lifts her head to catch a glimpse of the new interloper. The crowd is thick and she can’t quite make out who it is. Her heartbeat quickens.
Blonde curls soon make themselves visible in the gaps between bodies. Someone far too cheery for this place weaves through the tables and chairs.
Nat watches carefully as Misty’s eyes scan the room. When she spots Nat her lips pull into a brilliant grin and her steps turn bouncy in excitement. It’s… cute. If Nat thinks too much about it at least.
Misty beams as she slides into the spot across from Nat. She’s dressed up for tonight in a pretty dress and bright red lipstick that reminds Nat too much of freshly spilled blood. Her hair is perfectly curled and she pushes her glasses up her nose as she places her purse on the spare chair with a overexuberant thump.
“Sorry I’m late,” Misty chirps, “You know how work can get.”
Nat shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “Don’t worry about it,” she pauses, “I mean, you’re here now aren’t you?”
Nat hadn’t thought it possible for Misty’s smile to get wider, and yet it stretches across her face until the corners of her eyes crinkle. Objectively, it’s nice. Really nice.
Nat still isn’t used to having someone look at her like that–like even just being around her is a pleasure, worthy of brilliant blinding smiles and unending loyalty. The lights from the bar reflect in her glasses, making her almost glow against the dreary bar. It’s cozy like this–the two of them tucked into a corner table.
Nat is starting to get less scared about how comfortable things are with Misty.
The waitress spots Misty and walks back to the table once more, “Can I get you two started now?”
Misty’s smile shifts into something much more phony, “Oh! Yes! So sorry for the hold up. I’ll get a—“She pulls the drink menu toward her and her eyes glance across the writing, “hm. Do you do any martinis?”
The waitress flips the menu to the page with the martinis and stares at Misty tiredly.
“Ooh perfect!” Misty says, sickly sweet, “I’ll get a chocolate martini then.”
Nat tamps down on a smile as she orders her beer, Misty wandering through the rest of the menu. Nat takes the chance to observe her without her noticing.
It’s almost eerie to think about this Misty in comparison to the Misty Nat had first met. At first glance, not much has changed. The years have settled nicely on her skin. There’s a bit of confidence that hadn’t been there before, something deliberate in the way she moves. And yet underneath it all Nat can still make out the remnants of the girl who followed after the soccer team, lonely and longing.
Distantly she wonders what Misty sees when she looks at Nat.
The waitress scribbles in her notebook and takes off without another word, leaving the two women alone.
Silence settles over them like the dark thick clouds that appear before a storm. How do you even begin a conversation with someone who you have been through the unimaginable with? Who had almost sent you to your grave only a few weeks ago?
Twenty-five years stretch between the two of them, tying them together with all the gravity and weight of a noose. Nat isn’t sure she’d get rid of the rope if she had the choice. It’s reassurance in a way. She and Misty–all six of them really–will never truly be able to escape each other. Nat will never have to bear the weight of her own isolation again.
“Natalie?” Misty says softly and Nat raises her head to see Misty staring at her unnervingly, head tilted to the side in confusion.
Nat shifts in her seat and straightens up. She scrambles through her brain for a topic, “So how was work?”
Misty blinks, “What?”
Nat runs her thumb over the cuff of her jacket, “Anything exciting happen?”
Misty continues to just stare, mouth agape, and for a moment Nat thinks she isn’t going to answer. Then she seems to pull herself together, pushing her glasses up her nose and smiling, “It was good. It went by quickly at least,” Misty scrunches up her nose, “Though Mrs. Stafford was being awfully difficult today.”
Nat decides she doesn’t want to know, “Look–”
“How was your day?” Misty interrupts, before her face flushes, “Are you feeling–”
“I’m fine Misty,” Nat snaps, mouth twisting downward. The last thing she wants out of tonight is to be coddled, “The doctors gave me the greenlight weeks ago. I don’t need you,” she waves her hand vaguely in Misty’s direction, “Treating me like I’m about to collapse.”
Misty’s face falls and she draws her bottom lip in between her teeth, worrying at it. Nat’s heart twists and she sighs, “Hey,” she murmurs, “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”
Misty doesn’t speak right away, there’s a strange expression on her face–something subdued, mouth flattened into a line. She doesn’t look at Nat directly, instead out of the corner of her eyes as her fingers twist together. Nat curbs her own urge to reach out.
Finally, Misty inhales sharply and speaks lowly, “I was reckless. You almost died Natalie.” her voice rises and her fingers wind around each other, the skin around the knuckles turning white with strain.
Nat leans forward, keeping her voice quiet against the din of the other pub patrons, “You were trying to save me. I was the one who got in the way.” she doesn’t say the rest of it. That she dreams about the moment twenty-five-years ago on the ice. That she thinks too much about Misty pulling her back, about saving her life.
She swallows thickly, “And hey, I’m here now aren’t I? Bringing in another year. Who’d have thought, huh?”
Misty clears her throat and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “I suppose.”
The silence makes its reappearance after that. Nat watches out of the corner of her eyes as Misty drums on the table, her manicured nails making a repetitive clicking sound that would be annoying if it were anyone else.
The waitress brings them their drinks and Nat watches as Misty draws one of her blood-red nails around the circular rim of her glass. She doesn’t move to take a sip so Nat doesn’t either–instead picking up her glass and swirling the deep brown liquid around in circles.
“You know, every New Year’s since I was a kid, I’d always make a big long list of all my resolutions for the next year,” Misty says soft as the snow gently falling outside, “but when I laid out the piece of paper this time I just…” she trails off, plastering a half-hearted smile to her face, “I couldn’t figure out what to put down,” she says finally, playing it off like a joke. It doesn’t land.
Nat’s throat tightens, blocking the air clawing its way up her throat. She gets it. She really really does.
Eighteen-year-old Nat had never expected to make it this far. Hell , the Nat from a few months ago had never thought she’d live to see the end of the year. She hadn’t wanted to live to see the end of the year. The future is muddled and blurry, with no clear picture of what to expect. She’d given up on New Year’s resolutions by the time she was twelve. There was no use in planning for the future when nothing ever went as expected for her.
And yet… Nat is forty-two. She’s alive and breathing . Maybe Lottie’s cult teachings rubbed off on her more than she thought they did. Maybe… maybe she can let herself hope .
“It’s hard to believe it’s over,” Nat mumbles, words getting jumbled together.
It’s a big thing to try to hope for, but Nat lets it linger in the air, lets Misty smile at her and raises her glass toward Nat in a toast. Nat smirks and mimics the gesture, a warmth spreading through her that’s beyond the heat of the fireplace.
They stay for another thirty minutes, taking slow sips of their drinks. Misty fills the space with idle chatter about work and Caligula and some case she’s been investigating, while Nat occasionally chimes in with a comment or two.
As midnight draws nearer, the two pay their tabs, neither of them wanting to be caught in the roar and crush of the crowd when the clock hits twelve. Their chairs scrape agonizingly against the floor as they get to their feet. The night’s crowd causes them to draw closer together, and Nat’s arm brushes against Misty’s intermittently. Misty’s knuckles glance off Nat’s own and Nat inhales sharply, pulling her hand away.
They step out into the cold, snowflakes swirling down from the sky. Some catch in Misty’s hair, making her glitter under the streetlights as she glances down at her phone.
“Well,” Misty says, a lopsided grin stretching across her face, “See you next year?”
Nat groans and shoves her hands into her pockets to try to glean some warmth, “Really?”
Misty shoves her phone in Nat’s face. The time 11:59 flashes at her against the backdrop of Caligula’s grey feathers. Despite herself, a smile tugs at her lips as Misty bounces up and down on the balls of her feet in excitement.
They huddle together around the phone, shoulder to shoulder. From inside the pub, the countdown starts. Voices blend together as the clock ticks closer to midnight.
10.
Misty’s head tilts toward Nat’s own. Her curls brush against Nat’s cheek and Nat inhales the floral scent of her shampoo.
9.
A passer-by bumps into Misty, knocking her into Nat. Misty’s head slams against Nat’s cheek and Nat swears loudly, bringing a hand to rub at the burgeoning bruise.
8.
Nat surges forward to confront the stranger who–holy shit Misty’s head is hard –couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge the people he just barged through. She’s stopped by a hand tightening around her forearm, gentle yet persistent. Misty .
7.
Nat catches Misty’s eye and can’t look away. The rude stranger becomes nothing more than a distant memory. Her hangs hang listlessly at her sides, free from the confines of her pockets and being pricked by the cold.
6.
Misty stares doggedly at Nat, and tilts her head, considering something. Her hand is a vise around Nat’s arm and Nat can’t help but revel in it.
5.
Slowly, cautiously, Misty slides her hand down the leather cloaking Nat’s arm. She pauses at her wrist, teeth biting softly into her lower lip as she finally breaks eye contact. Nat keeps looking. A few stray snowflakes land on Misty’s cheeks.
4.
There is a distant bang as someone sets their fireworks off early. If they’re visible from the street, Nat doesn’t notice. All of her attention is zeroed in on the feeling of Misty’s fingertips brushing her bare skin and the movements of Misty’s face.
3.
There’s a pause. Misty’s nose scrunches up as she thinks. Nat presses her wrist further into Misty’s touch. Her heart thrums at the contact. This is a risk, she knows that. It wasn’t too long ago that she would’ve recoiled from the moment. From Misty .
2.
Misty’s fingers ghost across Nat’s palm before her own hand presses flush against it and her finger interlock with Nat’s. Misty’s hand is chilled from the cold, but Nat can’t bring herself to mind when Misty stares down where their skin meets with badly hidden awe.
1.
Drunken cheers echo from the world around them. Fireworks explode overhead, but all that matters is Misty.
Misty’s eyes shoot upward. She hesitates and then leans forward. Nat freezes as Misty presses a soft kiss to her cheek. A few inches to the left and they would’ve been kissing. Nat almost closes the gap, but stalls. Misty pulls back, cheeks flushed red and smiles nervous and giddy. It’s nice. Nicer than anything has been in a long time.
Misty pushes her glasses up her nose, “Happy New Year Natalie,” she says in that overly formal way of hers.
Nat smiles with her teeth. For the first time, she thinks that maybe this new year will allow more niceness. Warmth, even.
And Nat will be there to see it.