Chapter Twenty-Two

The rest of January and February pass by in a blur. Rosalie recommends some nonprescription antianxiety supplement that dampens my anxiety enough. The new semester starts, and our class is free from problem students, and Maeve and I are a perfectly oiled two-women show. I take a wide-eyed Maeve to fittings in boutiques where we're the only ones inside to be offered champagne. I teach her how to pose for a camera until she's on the floor laughing because apparently the juxtaposition of me in full femme glitz mode while wearing a flannel, a T-shirt I'd just gotten a coffee stain on, and jeans is too much. She's a great sport, even seems to be a little swept up in the glamor, and it's such a relief after the hiccup of the initial ask.

Meanwhile Oakley in Flames doesn't come up once. Mason calls and says she's 55 percent sure that the studio execs will let us have a gay kiss in Goodbye, Richard! 2, and she still doesn't mention Leonard. Once Charlie's name is announced as an Oscars presenter, he starts leaving the house for more auditions.

Good. Everything is good as Charlie, Maeve, and I get into a tinted-window Escalade. Of course Charlie looks sharp in his suit, and I did tell him he looked great to boost his self-esteem, but god I can't keep my eyes off Maeve. She's in a deep-red satin gown, which is tight around her waist and chest without exposing any tit and has this gorgeous sequined black-rose design that covers the top and then spreads lightly downward, exposing more of the red at the bottom of the dress. Someone was getting really cheeky putting me in a black sequin gown with a halter neckline and a thigh-high slit. She wears a diamond necklace, and I wear a bracelet and earrings from the same set, so we're basically high-end coordinated for prom. And lord, she can't keep the smile off her face as she runs her fingers along the fabric of the dress.

"I still can't believe this is happening," she says. Charlie's sitting up front chatting with the driver, Jordan, leaving Maeve and me in our own little world in the middle row.

I smile. "You look stunning."

"You look like you're actually supposed to be on TV tonight."

I run my hand through my newly cut hair. It was stuck somewhere between an undercut and a bob, and my stylist opted for giving me a clean undercut that emphasizes the length on top. I like it; it leaves that gorgeous Grace Kelly bob style for Maeve.

"Are you nervous?" I ask.

She tries to give a blasé shrug, but her dress accentuates the fact that she's shaking. "I'm still not sure what to do with all the cameras."

I chew on my inner cheek; can't wreck the lipstick. "Did you go to prom?"

"Yeah."

I take her hand. "Then think of this like prom but with a bunch of rich theater kids."

Maeve laughs, her breath gradually slowing down. "I'll try." Her hand drops back to her lap.

But it turns out the red carpet isn't even the most stressful part of the night. That's picking up Romy and Luna from their apartment. They're both in suits, and it's honestly adorable, but I really didn't anticipate having a physical reaction to seeing Luna all dressed up. My chest tightens trying to figure out how to greet your ex appropriately with your new girlfriend sitting in the car. Luckily, makeup limits us to those air-cheek-kisses.

"Hey, thank you so much for this," Luna says, gesturing to the tickets I got her, as we pull out of our hug. Romy's already given me a courteous fist bump and climbed into the back row.

"No problem," I say, flashing a more charming smile than I intended. I guess I haven't gotten those out of my system with her.

Maeve looks back to chat with Romy as everyone puts their seat belts back on.

"So did you take over QuASA for Leland at SC?" Romy asks.

Maeve nods. "Yeah, I think like two years ago? Took long enough; the guy still thought queer was a slur."

"Romy," Luna says. "Enough with the inquisition. We haven't even introduced ourselves."

Romy laughs. "Maeve seems cool." Romy holds their hand out, and she and Maeve shake. "I'm Romy, Luna's partner and the only person in this car validating Val's belief that Mothman is real."

Maeve gives me a look. "Mothman?"

"Those kids saw Mothman twice," is all I have to say about that.

"I'm Luna," Luna says without offering Maeve her hand. "I'm Valeria—Val's—"

She's gonna try to just say friend. "Ex," I say. Better to break the tension now. "Friend now."

"Friend always," Charlie says emphatically. "We gotta start feeding that narrative instead of the cradle robber one, Sully."

"She was twenty-four!" I say at the same time as Luna says, "I was twenty-four!"

Maeve just watches, an amused smile on her face. "You two have strangely similar energy."

Romy throws their hands up. "Exactly! A Libra and Gemini can't function together!"

Okay, for all that this is becoming a roast, I'm relieved. Maeve doesn't seem threatened by Luna. Good. Now I just need to let Charlie shine during our award presentation and this night will be a success—

"Okay, let's just get it all out there," Maeve says. "What's the craziest thing you two have done?"

The car feels twenty degrees hotter, and I'm stuck to the seat. I don't dare look back at Luna. "Uh…" Fuck, does her crying naked on my living room floor count? "I gave her a hand job in an Uber."

As Jordan stiffens from the rearview mirror, Romy and Charlie laugh. Maeve stares at me, blinking. She's clearly stunned. And now I'm suddenly not so sure she meant sex when she said "craziest thing."

"Was it at least an Uber Black?" Charlie asks.

"X," I reply.

"Cheapskate!"

"It wasn't necessary." Embarrassment has created a gunk that's blocking my arteries, and my blood has to slog through it.

"Also that's fucking wrong," Romy says. "How can you not say the time you coated Luna's lips in ghost pepper sauce during the hot wing thing?"

"It was Trinidad scorpion sauce!" Luna says, surprisingly indignant.

Charlie keeps going. "Oh my god, Luna, do you know what happened to Val after that?"

That piece of shit—

"They don't need to know that!" I interject.

"Have you ever seen a person after they survive a rare river parasite? When their intestines are just decimated," Charlie continues.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Luna says, genuinely apologetic.

"Get out of the fucking car, Charlie!" I snap.

But Maeve's laughing right along with Romy and Charlie. She makes eye contact with me, and I see joy in her eyes, not jealousy. "Why would you do that?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I don't wanna talk about it."

But I have to admit, as she gives my hand a squeeze, I do feel better that she brought it up. It's good to know she's not the jealous type. I feel a relief like no other. It affects the rest of the car ride, bringing about a warm, joking mood. We all exchange Hollywood stories and supernatural theories, and Charlie and I give the others our best Oscars survival tips.

By the time we arrive on the red carpet, I almost can't hear the roar of cameras, reporters, and whatever the hell else is going on outside. I start my deep breathing as Luna, Romy, and Charlie exit the car. Charlie gives me a particularly long smile and a thumbs-up.

Then it's just Maeve and me.

Maeve, who I know is completely out of her element but is doing this for me. Maeve, who, despite the fact that she's visibly shaking, takes my hand and squeezes it.

"Ready, babe?" I ask.

Maeve nods. Still, she's gone from shaking to rapid breathing. Not so ready.

"Focus on my breathing," I say, keeping my voice calm, gentle. "Try to copy what I'm doing." I take her hand and put it over my chest.

And as her breathing gradually slows to match mine, all I can do is stare at her in awe.

Maeve put both me and my ex at ease for my sake. Maeve ran Queer and Ally Student Assembly and thinks my being a paranormal conspiracy theorist is the most entertaining thing she didn't know about me. Maeve looks absolutely incredible in a dress that matches mine. Maeve's ready to go out there and be paraded around for me despite how terrifying this clearly is for her. She's ready to tell the world that she's mine, that I'm hers. In public. In public-public. After everything she's done for me, I'm going to be there for her. For everything.

I take one last deep breath, my heart hammering. "I love you."

She's in shock for a second. One, two, my stomach dropping, three—

Then she smiles. Full grin, cheeks pink, I've-never-seen-her-this-elated smile. "I love you too."

Hearing those four words gives me more courage than any alcohol, drug, or the hundreds of strangers outside cheering could do. I know there's pandemonium around us. I do. I avoid the bumps in the red carpet and blink back the dots in my vision after each camera flash. But it doesn't matter. For the first time ever, when I step onto this red carpet, I can't see the crowds and chaos around me. It's just Maeve, who follows my lead as I gently hold her hand. We arrived late enough that the reporters are distracted by others and aren't dogpiling trying to get to me. We move to the fork where celebrities separate from their normie guests for photos. I let go of Maeve's hand.

"Whatever you feel comfortable with," I say.

She takes my hand back. "Let's go."

I mean, hell, she looks gorgeous enough that people are gonna ask if she's from some movie they don't remember.

The choruses of "Valeria!" start, making my name not sound like my name anymore. The requests for a shot of "just me" come pretty fast. I glance at Maeve; she nods back. Even though it's the last thing I want to do, I step a few feet from her. A clean shot for the dozens of cameras.

I go through the motions, adjust the way I stand, where I put my hands, how I angle my chin, and how I screw my face up to give my neutral glamor look. Give a few practiced smiles. Accidentally throw up a peace sign.

"Valeria, who's the girl?" Shayne, one of the reporters I actually recognize and kind of like, says.

"My girlfriend."

Out of the corner of my eye, I note how Maeve remains relaxed as I say the word out loud. So far, so good.

"Can we get some photos?"

I look to Maeve again; she nods. But she's shaking again as I put my arm around her. "If you're worried about your face, kiss my cheek. You always look good that way."

"Lipstick?" she asks.

"It's transfer-proof."

She puts her arm around me, slowly relaxing into familiar territory. She looks to me, and copies what I do. No smiles at first, but neither of us can keep from them long. She kisses my cheek once, very quickly, though, clearly not in the full mood for hamming it up for the camera. Some of the photographers whoop.

I look over at Shayne, who smirks and asks, "Can we get a full kiss? For the gays." A little joke between us that yes, I'm fully aware she's gay too. "And name?"

I turn to Maeve, heart in my throat. It's such a simple gesture, one we've done so many times, but I still feel like I'm on the downward slope of a roller coaster as I swoop in to kiss her. Closed mouth, my hands on her cheeks as she leaves hers around my waist. Her lips are so soft, and I feel so secure in her arms. It makes my heartbeat thrum and I get into it, kiss her a little longer than I probably should.

The photographers all look to Maeve. Her grip on me tightens. She opens her mouth, but her voice just cracks.

"Maeve Arko," I say as we pull away.

But I don't look at the photographers. I focus on Maeve, searching her features for any distress. Is this too much too soon, was that too long a kiss, anything. But she looks relieved. More than that. She's got a smile plastered on her face, and she's looking at me like I'm the only person in this crowded venue.

She leans in to whisper to me. "I've never had someone cheer for my PDA."

I giggle, my hand naturally falling to her arm even though we're separated now.

And it hits me.

I'm on the red carpet with a woman. I'm on the red carpet and I don't have to pretend I'm dating Charlie or that I just wanted to bring my family. I'm on the red carpet with my girlfriend. We love each other, and we just kissed and the people around us cheered. Me, a girl, kissed my girlfriend on the red carpet, and nothing bad is happening.

Three years of agony, three years that nearly took everything from me, and it's over. I never have to do that again. After so long thinking I'd never make it to the next day, let alone get to the other side, a place where I was happy. And now I'm there. I'm on that other side. I can finally be myself up here and everything is okay. It's a spark of good in those months where I wondered if the invasive questions made coming out worth it at all.

I know it right then and there. It was all worth it.

I'm trying to blink back the tears, but they're slipping down my cheeks.

"Aw, Val," Maeve says. She reaches over and blots my tears. I hope I didn't wreck my makeup.

The camera clicks snap around us, but it's over so fast. The tears are gone, I've checked my makeup in a compact and it's fine, and Maeve and I are walking toward the entrance to the Dolby hand in hand.

I can't believe this is my life now.

I think Maeve's enjoying herself. I hope she is. So far she's gotten through the first half of the infamously long program. I get a camera recording some of my too-honest facial reactions to the usual weird shit they always pull. I'm actually in a decent mood but, as usual, by the time Charlie and I go up to present Best Supporting Actress, I'm starving (fuck when they stopped having late-night hosts try to outperform each other by delivering us food mid-show) and I'm ready to book it. In fact, if Maeve doesn't want to go to an after-party, I think we'll just go get food and head home.

Even though I've been doing public speaking for a long time now, being in front of this audience, knowing any flub I make will be part of a BuzzFeed article in two seconds, I'll admit my heart's racing a little. There's a teleprompter I can still sort of see without my glasses, but the nerves are present and accounted for. I slide my glasses on. I can just see out of the corner of my eye Charlie leaning toward the mic.

"Just for some behind-the-scenes trivia, this is all scripted and she's only wearing those to look hot," Charlie says, easily improving as usual.

I shoot him a look as everyone laughs. I'm intending to jokingly slap his wrist away, but I end up making the fucking envelope unceremoniously tumble to the ground. The crowd's laughter only gets louder as I put my hands over my face, half in shock and half to hide any changes to my complexion.

"Jesus Christ," Charlie says as I bend down and slip forward, spending one heart-stopping moment where I'm convinced I'm falling off the stage—

Until Charlie catches me, securing me with one arm while he swoops the envelope into his hand with the other. "I swear you will be back in your girlfriend's loving arms in a minute. No need to swan-dive off the stage."

At that moment, it's like my body reboots. My heart slows a bit. I'm alive, and I feel weirdly secure in Charlie's arms, despite where we are. Everyone bursts into laughter, including, fuck, me. I'm still laughing as I look from Maeve in the audience to the teleprompter to Charlie's joyful fucking face. And I too feel some form of joy coursing through my veins—and, okay, maybe it's really horror-filled adrenaline disguised as joy—but it feels good. I compose myself, look to the very boring opening for Best Supporting Actress, and pull myself together long enough to say, "And the nominees for Best Supporting Actress are…" and list off the names.

And the moment is actually really nice. To my utter delight, my on-screen child in Stroke wins her first Oscar, at age twelve, and she, Charlie, and I are able to share a little hug mid-moment. Maeve's grinning when I return to my seat. I hand her a napkin full of cheese and carrot sticks I found backstage, and she hands me her phone.

"You and Charlie are trending," she says.

My stomach pinches as I pull up the first article. But it reads, "10 Best Parts of the Oscars So Far…" and it talks about how charming Charlie is and how we have great chemistry. They mention Charlie's gay comment along with a link to another article.

This one talks about Maeve and me on the red carpet. How heartwarming it was to see me burst into tears of joy with Maeve.

I grab Maeve's hand as I give her phone back. "Thanks for coming with me," I whisper, and kiss her cheek.

The awards wrap up, and Maeve and I decide not to go to an after-party. With our hands just touching thighs, teasing, her head resting on my shoulder, our designer heels knocking against one another, we know no bottle-popping after-party can compare to what we can do together.

Luna and Romy are overjoyed to get my tickets to the Goodbye, Richard!'s studio's after-party, and tell me they plan to meet Wyatt and one of his coworkers there. Even I'm a little overjoyed seeing them practically skip toward the venue hand in hand in their matching suits, so clearly in their own world. When Mason texts me asking if I'll be there and I say I'm ducking out early, she just responds with a bunch of taco emojis. Charlie asks if he can bring someone home, and I think I say something along the lines of "I'm not your mom; you decide" as Maeve and I step into our Escalade.

Once we're inside, we put our seat belts on like everything's normal. We each managed one free glass of champagne on practically empty stomachs, but I feel loopy with her around. I almost repeat history and unbuckle my seat belt to reach under her dress, but I'm too sober for that. I settle for grabbing her hand.

"Did you have fun?" I ask.

She smiles. "Honestly?"

I nod.

"It was a lot more boring than I remember it being when I watched it on TV. But you and Charlie made it completely worth it."

"I'm glad you came."

"I am too. Thank you for, you know, giving me the opportunity of a lifetime."

"Eh, you'll be forced to come back next year." I feel like I've released a kite that's caught the wind right away. It's more a wisp of a fantasy, but I doubt Maeve will remember when we're both teaching in a year, Hollywood in the past.

When the drive ends, Maeve and I move effortlessly to my house, up my stairs, into the serenity of my bedroom. We kick off our shoes, but then the momentum screeches to a dead halt.

"Val, how the hell do we get these dresses off?" Maeve asks.

I smirk. "Very carefully."

"I'm not touching yours."

I chuckle. "Fine." I locate the zipper on mine easily, step out of it carefully, and hang it up on the hanger the designer gave us. Then, in nothing but some pasties and a black thong, I move to Maeve. I grab her shoulders and run my fingers down the lengths of her arms. "It's back here."

I plant a firm kiss on the nape of her neck. My own heart thumps as her hairs stand on end. Slowly, achingly slowly, I kiss down her spine. With each brush of my lips, she sighs. With my body pressed to hers, our heartbeats reverberate off each other's skin. Finally, when her skin is hot, her breath quick under me, I unzip her dress. I slip the dress off her as gently as she handles everything in her possession and hang it up. She tears the pasties off delicately as I remove my own, throw them into a nearby trash can. She turns to me, and it's like a fucking movie. I've never seen anyone more gorgeous in my life, and I never want to see anyone else.

I smile. "Now that that's over with…"

I slam her into the nearest wall. Her sighs turn to moans as we kiss, lick, and bite, as we all but rip the panties off each other. As we fall onto the bed, hands migrating to legs, asses, the supple skin between our legs, the moans only increase. We rip open my drawer. Yank out the harness underwear, the strap, a bullet vibrator. I slide the harness on, stuff the vibe and dildo in, and smile down at Maeve as she opens up for me.

"I love you," she says as I enter her.

"I love you too."

I can't wait to say that later tonight, tomorrow morning, maybe even for the rest of our lives.

It plays like a chorus in my head, provides a tune for my every movement, the way our hands clasp together, the way our lips come together and don't separate as we moan into each other's mouths. We clutch each other, scratching nails against soft skin and pushing bruises into shoulders and waists as we come together hard, arching into each other. Like there's no peace until we're as close to each other as possible.

We could have every inch of skin touching and I swear we wouldn't be close enough. Being inside her isn't close enough. Telling her my every secret and asking her to cradle my most vulnerable self doesn't feel like enough.

In that moment as I catch my breath, I realize that I haven't taken the fullest extent of her touch.

"Hey, Maeve?" I say as I pull off the strap.

"Yeah?"

I put my hand over my heart. But maybe it's time to embrace its racing. "I want you inside me." The words taste like honey on my lips. I can't fucking believe I'm saying them.

She raises her eyebrows. "Really?"

I take her hand. "Yeah." I bite my lip. "I probably can't take much, but…"

"Yeah. I mean, sure, of course." She smiles, leans in so her breath is tickling my ear. "It'd be my pleasure," she says, her voice turning into that growl I've fantasized about since I met her.

I roll onto my back. "Can I see you, though?" I ask.

She leans over to kiss my nose. "Of course." She scoots back, sitting on her feet in front of my legs. "Let me know if you want me to go slower, faster, pull out. It's no big deal if you're not feeling it."

I exhale. "Okay."

She slides a single finger down the middle of my body, from my throat, between my tits, past my scar, curling into a circle around my clit. My breath catches in my throat as I buck against her touch.

She barely grazes the skin inside. I tighten up instinctually, force myself to take another breath and relax. Maeve gives me a little smile and slides her whole finger in.

"This okay?" she asks.

The weird thing is, yeah, it is. It's—I don't know if I'd say pleasurable yet. But she's inside me, nothing hurts, and—and, well, that's it. Maeve's inside me. Another girl hasn't been inside me since Emily, and every session with her was far more grit-my-teeth-and-wait-for-it-to-end than good. Maeve draws gentle circles inside me as her other fingers circle around my clit.

"Yeah, it's fine." My breath hitches again as she hits a particularly sensitive spot. "It's nice."

"I'm glad," she says, her voice soft, gentle even.

My muscles strain around her finger, my breath quickening. It feels familiar in a way, but…more. Like my skin is tingling more than it usually does, my muscles are growing more taut with Maeve's touch. It feels similar to what usually happens, but there's something else there. I wish I could remember if the G-spot is just an extension of the clit or something else entirely. I'm pretty sure the former. And I'm—Jesus, Maeve curls her fingers in and presses them against my wall, and my brain shuts the fuck up. Because that, combined with whatever magic's she's doing outside, that really is amazing.

"God, you're wet," she says. "Do you want another finger?"

I exhale. "Yes."

Another goes in. I never thought it'd actually feel good.

She leans down to kiss me. Tender, heavy, wanting.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too," I echo as she goes back inside me.

It's okay. Bearable.

And she goes back to the pulsing motion she was doing before. And that bearable turns to good turns to fucking great.

"I'm crazy for you, you know," I swallow. "I've wanted to tell you that I love you for months. So much before tonight."

"I did too," she says. "I can't believe I get to do this."

And then sex turns into the kind of frenzy I so rarely find myself in.

And when I do come, it's like a fucking hurricane. Lightning bolts through me, my upper half crunches all the way up. The pleasure rips from between my legs, into my belly, down to my toes. I grab on to Maeve's arms, bury my face into her chest. And when the pleasure moves from a storm to a patter of rain, I savor the sound of her heart racing in her chest.

I flop onto the bed, pulling Maeve into me as the feeling wanes.

"Better?" Maeve asks.

I grin. "The best I've ever had," I take her hand, "I wouldn't have wanted it with anyone else."

"I'm so glad," Maeve says.

I kiss the back of her neck one last time.

I hold her and savor the moment for a bit. The sharp floral scent of her perfume mixed with the subtle smell of sweat. How soft her skin is. How her hair is a little stiff from the hair spray my stylist used on her, but how it also smells like flowers as I dig my face into it.

Somewhere in the background, my phone's ringing. But I don't feel any particular need to answer it.