Work Text:
It’s the rare late summer morning that doesn’t make you feel like you’re drowning in humidity. The sun dapples through Plummer Park’s sycamores and, and there’s a hint of a breeze, a reminder that fall is just around the corner. The park’s not that far from Sasha’s office and close enough to Morgan’s pilates that somehow, hanging out has become a regular enough occurrence that Sasha’s considering putting it on his work calendar.
He takes a deep slurp from a smoothie that’s trying to masquerade as healthy with an unnatural shade of green. “Is it weird that we still live together?”
“Oh one hundred percent yes, obviously it’s weird,” Morgan says immediately. Sasha doesn’t need her to remove her sunglasses to tell that she’s rolling her eyes.
“I mean, It’s only been three months.”
“It’s been three months. You’re what, sleeping in the spare room to babysit Miriam while Esther’s going out on dates?”
“I mean I don’t think it’s called babysitting when I’m her dad.”
“Fine Sasha, you’re very enlightened, ugh.” Morgan looks truly annoyed. It’s great. “Anyway, I thought the whole point of your separation was for you guys to spread your wings and see what else is out there in the world.”
“That is definitely Esther’s point, yes.” It’s something of a sore point, which Morgan is very aware of, but if there’s something he can count on with Morgan, it’s that she will always deliver a figurative truth pies right to his face.
Sasha takes another slurp of his smoothie, making it loud just to see her shudder. “I’m… waiting to see how it goes,” he says.
“Okay dude,” Morgan says, with all the skepticism of, he supposes, a relationship podcaster. “Tell me how that works out for you.”
*
In October, Sasha moves out. His new place has two bedrooms, an office, and a spacious living room with a green-patterned couch that he doesn’t love, but doesn’t have the spare energy to replace. He texts his dad for help installing a dryer, Esther for help choosing bedsheets - a call he retroactively regrets very much - Noah for help choosing a water purifier, the only thing he can be trusted with - and Morgan for help choosing drapes.
Morgan shows up at his door two days later with a bottle of wine and shopping bag overflowing with tissue paper.
“It’s a rice cooker,” she says, shoving it into his hands and stepping inside. “Not that I needed saving, but it was a lifesaver after my divorce.”
“Aww,” Sasha says, taking a peek inside the bag. It’s a good brand, too. “Thank you. You forgot to take out the card,” he adds, pulling out the frilly white card that says, in fancy calligraphy, To Morgan and Andy, congratulations on your engagement!
“Let’s just toss that in the trash,” she says. She walks to the living room like she owns the place, heading straight towards the large floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the western wall. “This is where the curtains are going?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And just to be certain, I was consulted before Bina?”
“My mom has famously bad taste in textiles.” Sasha loves his mom, but he’s not sure he wants to live in a place draped with brown velvets, like a hotel lobby from the seventies.
Morgan gives a satisfied little humph, and squints at the view.
“All right,” she says. “You’re gonna get good lighting here in the afternoon, you’re gonna want something light and airy, but there are also like twenty apartments here in your direct line of site, so you want a fabric that can give you some privacy.”
“I mean, I don’t know that I’m doing any top secret work here that needs hiding,” Sasha says. “I liked the light and airy bit, that sounds nice.”
“Duh, but.” Morgan stares at him meaningfully.
“But what?”
“But what if you want to have sex, Sasha?”
Sasha nearly drops the rice cooker. “Oh my god, who am I having sex with?”
“I don’t know man! You’re clearly in some divorce-induced celibacy phase or whatever right now, but at some point you’re gonna, like.” She waves a hand at his blank stare. “Join an app. You don’t want all your creepy neighbors peeping at you.”
Sasha doesn’t know where to start, and decides to go with, “Okay, first of all, one of my neighbors is Anthony Edwards, so have some respect.” He can’t help a smile as Morgan immediately spins back to the window, obviously trying to guess which balcony belongs to the good TV doctor. “Second, I have a very nice bed, so I don’t know that I’m going to be doing anything on this ugly green couch.”
“Boring,” says Morgan under her breath, which Sasha very much ignores.
“And third,” he continues, and finds that after winding himself up, he’s at a loss. He groans. “Ugh. Apps? Really? Do you think I’ll get there?”
“I mean you can definitely stick to your abstinence regimen until you give yourself permission to move on, but like. Yeah.” She softens her tone a little. “Eventually.”
He tries to imagine it. An unfamiliar body in his arms, on this green-patterned couch, tossing pillows to the floor, being naked in front of someone new. It feels… strange.
“So you’re saying I need airy curtains thick enough to prevent Anthony Edwards from spying on me having sex with someone I met on JSwipe.”
“I have just the one,” Morgan says, already scrolling through her phone. “Years of Selling Sunset have prepared me for this day.”
Sasha sinks down onto the couch, which he might one day use for sex with someone, but for now is mostly a comfortable resting spot for his butt.
Another comfortable thing, strangely, is having this conversation with Morgan. It’s somewhere between really odd and really natural, and he can’t figure out how to place it.
“Does it feel weird, us talking about this, now that we’re both single?”
Morgan looks up from her phone, the corner of her mouth curving up. “Buddy, it’s always been weird.”
*
They’re on sibling-errand duty, which means that Noah needs Sasha to pick up a new suit that’s closer to his side of town, and Morgan’s - okay, Morgan’s not actually on an errand from Joanne, she just wants to buy double the sweaters cause there are good discounts leading up to the holidays - so they decide to join forces and go shopping together.
“Should we get these for Noah and Joanne?” Sasha asks, eyeing a pair of matching winter pajamas printed with cartoon kittens and puppies frolicking together.
“Ugh, gross,” Morgan says, looking aghast. “They’re disgusting, they deserve it, but I'll need to hide it at the bottom of the pile before I change my mind.”
“It’s not that bad,” Sasha says. “It’s wholesome. Like a Ted Lasso Christmas episode.”
“Enough with the wholesome,” Morgan says. “This is more like it,” she says, stopping at a rack with shimmery deep blue v-neck dresses.
Sasha looks at the dress, then at her. “Okay, you’re not buying that for Thanksgiving dinner, are you? Because Esther will lose her shit.”
Morgan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, definitely not looking for Esther’s permission for what to wear, thanks,” she says, “but no. I have a date Friday night.”
Something happens in Sasha’s stomach. He doesn’t let himself look closely at it.
“Who’s the guy?” Sasha asks. “You didn’t mention it on the podcast.”
Morgan’s mouth opens. “Are you pod-stalking me?”
“Sure, I hack Spotify to see what you’re up to,” Sasha says. “Come on, you know I listen to it on the way to work. It’s the only way these days I can gather dirt on Noah.”
“Fair,” she says. “No, it’s a guy I met though Ryann. He’s a doctor. Not mine,” she clarifies quickly, which, okay, Sasha is very glad to hear.
“Hey, good for you,” he says, genuinely. “Do you need any help?”
Morgan studies his face for a moment. “Thanks,” she says finally, with a small smile. “Yeah, hey, uh, grab on to these,” she hands him the work-in-progress shopping basket, and chooses two of the dresses, in blue and in black. “I’m gonna go try these on, lemme know what you think.”
“It’s gonna be the blue,” he says.
“You don’t know that,” Morgan says, and disappears into the dressing room.
She reappears a few minutes later, draped in shimmery deep blue fabric that brings out her eyes. “Eyes up here, buddy,” she says, looking pleased with herself, and Sasha, mortifyingly, feels his cheeks flush. Morgan looks even more satisfied.
“Okay, but was I right?”
he points out.
“You were right,” she admits, looking in the full length mirror.
“You can also,” he starts, and mimes twisting his non-existent hair up. Morgan mimics him, lifting up her hair with one hand, exposing a long neck that flows into her cleavage.
“Okay, you’re annoyingly good at this,” she says.
Sasha grins. Annoyingly good is his gift.
*
All of a sudden it’s December, and it’s his first Hannukah as a - they’re not divorced yet, but they’re definitely not married. Spending the holiday with family is something he used to take for granted, and all of a sudden, he finds himself with… time.
He spends the first evening with the whole family, and the second with his parents, the third and fourth just him and Miriam, the fifth at work, the sixth with Noah and Joanne and some friends, and the seventh with Esther and Miriam, back home. (Not home anymore, he knows, though it still feels like it.)
At some point, Miriam goes to bed, and it’s just him and Esther, drinking camomile tea like a pair of old people who’ve had too much fried food too late in the day.
She catches him up on her last few days with Miriam. He tells her about lighting the candles yesterday and Noah almost setting the kitchen on fire trying to fry latkes, which he knows she knows is a lie, but it happened in 2010 and it could happen again, and about Morgan roping some baking influencer she just broke up with into giving her a box of artisanal sufganiyot, rich pastries with chocolate ganesh and dulce de leche.
“Stop pretending to be a food snob, you just like the sugar,” Esther says.
“Hey, I also like the deep-fry,” he says indignantly.
Esther chuckles. “So what are your plans for tomorrow?”
Sasha doesn’t have any plans for tomorrow. It’s the last night of Hanukkah, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to spend it alone.
“Just hang out, I guess,” he says vaguely.
“You’re not gonna invite anyone over to light the last candle?” she asks. He doesn’t know why she’s pushing this.
“I wasn’t - not really.”
“What about Morgan?” she asks.
Sasha has no idea what to say to that, except that his heart gives an inconvenient little flutter.
“What about Morgan?” he repeats.
“Sash,” Esther says, and it’s way too kind.
“What?”
She lifts her hands placatingly. “I’m just saying! You can invite her over. There are worst people to spend time with than, you know,” she gives him a sidelong glance, “someone you’re pining after like a middle school crush.”
Sasha chokes on his tea. “I’m sorry, what?”
Esther rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing. “Come on, babe, the way your eyes lit up when you were talking about her loser ex-boyfriend.”
“Boyfriends,” he corrects. “It’s important to note, all of them are losers.”
Esther’s still laughing. Something in Sasha’s chest loosens.
“Seriously though,” she says, looking, amazingly, unbothered. “I know what you look like when you’re pining, okay? You’re a good guy, Sash,” she says gently. “You’re allowed to get what you want.”
He gives her a long look, and finally says, “Stop making me have feelings, that’s not what the holidays are about,” and Esther laughs, and Sasha gets the sense that things are going to end up okay.
*
“Tell me the truth,” Morgan says when she shows up the next day. “Did you invite me here because you want my amazing free pastries? Because you were the one who ate the last one, I might need to sleep with someone to get more of those.”
“Er, no need for that,” Sasha says. “Besides, we’re good with food.”
“It does smell amazing in here,” Morgan admits, stepping inside. “Where did you order in from? Is it that new place on Melrose you mentioned the other day?”
“Nope, this is just a regular ole’ dinner with chef Sasha.”
“You–” Morgan blinks. “You cooked? For just me?”
“I am choosing not to be offended by your little flabbergastion there.”
“Sorry! No, I mean–” Morgan looks a little flustered. “It’s just not what I was expecting. It… it really does smell great.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, you just caught me by surprise. I didn’t mean you cooked for me.”
“So, I actually kinda did though.”
There’s a long silence, with a lot of eye contact. Morgan sets down her purse.
“So, uh,” she says. “I don’t want to make this awkward by asking.”
“Don’t worry,” Sasha says, “I think I made it awkward enough for both of us.” He clears his throat. “See I was going to call you on the podcast and ask you out.”
“I would have literally killed you.”
“Yeah, I figured I’d be pushing my luck,” he says, smiling, trying unsuccessfully not to feel too nervous as his heart kickstarts to a mile a minute. “So look. It’s just dinner. It… can be just dinner. The candles can just be for the holiday, they don’t have to be romantic.”
Morgan’s face is just. Really fucking pretty, he can’t help but notice. Again.
“But, if you want…” he trails off.
“If I want?”
“Well, it can be a holidate.”
Morgan starts to smile. “If you’re trying to get on the podcast as a really bad trademarker, it’s working for you.”
“Yeah?” Sasha asks, and his heart’s at full speed now, it’s ridiculous. “Is anything else working for you?”
Morgan considers it for a moment, and then breaks into a full on smile. “Yeah, okay, I think it is.”
Sasha wouldn’t liken it to a burst of sunlight shining right into and through his chest, but like. It wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate.
“Okay,” he says.
Morgan grins. “Okay, loser.”
Sasha holds out a hand, and after a moment she takes it, her hand warm in his as he lead her to the table. Esther was maybe not wrong about him being like a teenager with a crush, it feels ridiculous, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.
He pours Morgan a glass of wine. “You know,” he says, pouring himself one. “Fair warning. We’re probably going to be in-laws someday. This could get messy. Nobody wants that.”
Morgan raises a glass with a wink - he thinks it might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen - and says, with a pleased smile, “I think I just might.”