Boston Marriage (Part One)
Title: Boston Marriage
Author: politicette, themistoklis
Fandom: Fake News: The Daily Show, The Colbert Report
Characters/Pairings: cis!girls "Stephanie" Colbert/Joan Stewart (genderbended from "Stephen" Colbert, Jon Stewart), assorted "Colbert" family members, assorted original characters
Rating: R
Length: ~26,300 words
Warnings: TRIGGER WARNINGS for domestic violence, homophobia, alcohol use
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Notes: Thank you so much to paperscribe for betaing this piece for us. We started it so long ago we legitimately do not remember most of the first half, but apparently it's in okay shape.
Summary: Joan and "Stephanie" run away from home to get married, and it's going to be totally awesome.
Joan packs while Stephanie sits in the bathroom with the door cracked. She perches on the edge of the counter, leans as far over the sink as she can without her forehead bumping against the mirror. She smoothes foundation over the bruise under her eye.
"He hit me," she murmurs absently, touching the mottled blue and black spot underneath her eye. "My own father."
There's a rap at the door and Joan speaks without tugging it open any further. Stephanie nearly tumbles into the sink. "Do you, um. Do you want some ice?"
Stephanie shakes her head vehemently. "I can do this on my own."
"But you don't have to," Joan protests. Her fingers curl around the door and she eases it open just wide enough to stick her face in, curls tousled and blue eyes wide.
Stephanie meets Joan's eyes in the mirror. Her lip wobbles for a moment, and she clamps it between her teeth to stop it from trembling. "No," she finally insists, lowering her gaze. "I can do this on my own."
The door creaks when Joan yanks it open, and shudders when she snaps it shut behind her. Stephanie knocks her makeup into the sink and digs her chin into her chest, her feet almost scraping the floor while Joan wraps her arms around her waist. She's patted on enough foundation to cover half the bruise, and she can't cry now, with Joan holding her so tight. If she cries into Joan's shirt now, she'll ruin her hard work.
But she doesn't have to cry, because Joan is murmuring low in her ear, her voice smooth and soft like Stephanie' favorite sweater. "It's going to be okay," she promises, kneading little circles into Stephanie's lower back. "It's going to be okay. We're getting out of here."
Stephanie can't fix Boston in her mind. All she knows is that it's near the water, and crowded, and turns white in the winter. It's where Joan is going to school and it's where she applied, too, beating her parents to the mailbox every day to grab the fat Boston College acceptance envelope she stuffed into the glove box of her car. A good Catholic school, in an Irish Catholic city, sealed with the Colbert stamp of approval.
Stephanie can't fix it in her mind. But it's where Joan wants to be, and it snows, and they can get married by the sea. That's good enough for her.
Joan threads her fingers through Stephanie's hair and tilts Stephanie's face towards her own. Stephanie thinks her lips are even softer than her voice, that the quickened pulse of her heart is even more comforting than her thick sweaters.
"I have to finish packing now," Joan whispers against Stephanie's hair, pressing one last kiss to her temple. Stephanie groans a little, afraid that Joan will take her warm-sweater feel with her, but she doesn't. She stays warm and heavy around Stephanie's shoulders. Solid. Palpable.
The door open on the hallway, she turns back to the mirror and finishes as much as she can. There's still a smear of dark under her eye, but she's sure that before it fades she'll get good enough to mask it entirely.
When she's done, she snaps her makeup case closed and carries it down to Joan's room.
The seams on her soccer bag, the duffel she took on overnight trips with the team when she got her own room at hotels because she was the only girl, are nearly bursting. Stephanie doesn't know how much can fit in there, but apparently it's enough clothes to last, because her closet door is shut and the open drawers in her dresser are all empty.
Joan's kneeling in front of her bookshelf, stuffing things into a giant black trash bag.
She sighs, weighing each well-worn volume in her hands. Regretfully, she places the heavier books back onto the shelf and piles in comic books, magazines, and paperbacks.
When the last of the books are packed away, Joan stands up and straightens her t-shirt, pulls on the waistband of her shorts. "Aw, shit," she swears, throwing the trash bag onto her bed. "I need something to wear for the wedding."
"Joan," Stephanie frowns at the language.
"Stephi, please tell me that I don't have to wear a dress," Joan scowls, striding over to her to twist the hem of her shirt. "You won't make me wear a dress, right?"
Shuddering when Joan slides a hand up her tee, Stephanie swallows. "Of course not," she breathes.
"Awesome," Joan grins.
---
Mom,
Gone to Boston to get married when you're ready to join us. Come up soon.
Love,
Joan
PS Bring Larry
---
"Which car should we take?" Joan is standing at the door of her battered Oldsmobile and staring straight at Stephanie's Mustang, rolling her keys between her palms.
Stephanie shrugs. "You can drive mine if you like."
Joan swallows a noise and pats the side view mirror on her car before skipping over to the 'Stang. She skims her fingers up the hood, runs her palm along the side, presses her fingertips into the red paint. Stephanie stands to the side and watches, familiar with the movement of Joan's hands, the cant to her fingers, every bit as tender as when they're on skin instead of metal.
Watching Joan's hands skating over the sides of the car, Stephanie wonders where she could get a dress in that same bright red.
They leave without any lights coming on in the houses they pass, and find the edge of town sooner than Stephanie thought was possible. She keeps her hand curled around her seat belt the whole first leg of the trip, watching the driver's seat from the corner of her eye. Joan's eyes shine when she drives.
They don't click to a stop until they reach the northern edge of North Carolina, and Joan, who never got around to getting dinner, buys enough for one from the vending machines at the rest stop. She takes Stephanie's seat and hands over the keys.
Stephanie gets them back onto the highway as fast as possible, then breaks the speed limit. They don't see another set of headlights for miles, and that's only across the divider, so Stephanie keeps her foot on the pedal and lets cool air pour over them through cracked windows.
The wind ruffles Joan's hair after she falls asleep, twisted a little in her seat so she's facing Stephanie. Her mouth hangs half open and Stephanie watches her in short bursts during moments when they're not sharing the road with anyone else.
By the time Joan wakes up, it's already dark, and they've crossed the border into Maryland. Stephanie's eyelids are drooping, and the harder she fights to keep them open, the heavier they seem to get.
"Stephi," Joan coaxes, reaching out and rubbing Stephanie's shoulder, "We need to stop somewhere. You need sleep."
Stephanie scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine!"
"No, babe." Joan's voice is firm, insistent. "We need to look for a hotel."
"I'm really fine," Stephanie gripes, but she pulls into the nearest exit anyway.
The motel's sign glows bright yellow at them from the side of the road, and Stephanie slows down just enough not to clip the curb when she swerves into the parking lot. The rate on the sign is low, and Joan slinks out of the car with her wallet to pay for the room while Stephanie sits in the car with her head resting on the steering wheel. She has to pry her fingers off when Joan comes back to rap on the window. They're on the second floor.
In the parking lot, a group of shady-looking men call out to Stephanie, making lewd comments that only turn for the worse when Joan tightens her arm around Stephanie's waist. The whole place smells of cigarettes and stale beer.
"It's not so bad in the rooms," Joan promises. "And there's a deadbolt on the door."
Stephanie checks it three times once they're inside, and draws the curtains tight.
"Stephi," Joan calls when she circles back around to check the door for the fourth time. "Come to bed." She stretches out sleepily, pats the space beside her on the mattress.
They couldn't find Stephanie's bag in the dark, so she's wearing one of Joan's big t-shirts. It rides up around her hips when she slithers under the covers, the sheets cool against her skin. Joan clicks off the lamp and tangles their legs together, letting Stephanie bury her face against the crook of her neck.
"I'm really not that tired," she insists, snaking her hand up to rest suggestively between them. But her eyes flutter closed anyway, her breathing deep and even.
Joan sighs. Maybe in the morning.
---
Stephanie wakes up first, to murky sunlight and quiet snoring coming from the pillow next to her. The shoes closest to the door are Joan's sneakers, so she slips her feet in and pads down to the car to wrestle her makeup bag from the bottom of the trunk. The parking lot is empty, and she doesn't catch any catcalls walking back up the stairs in only Joan's t-shirt.
She takes off the sneakers by the door and shuts the bathroom door behind her.
The bruise has turned a nasty shade of mottled yellow, and the dark streaks all up her cheekbone and across her temple resist the liberal amounts of concealer she dabs over them. She keeps going, though, until it's hidden enough not to be too obvious with the lights off and the curtains drawn.
Peeling off her shirt, Stephanie crawls next to Joan. She runs her hands over Joan's bare torso, traces the lines of Joan's neck with her tongue. Joan's eyes flutter open, and Stephanie smiles, moving lower and guiding Joan's hand to tangle in her long, dark hair. Joan holds Stephanie's wrists against the mattress when she returns the favor, and Stephanie bucks against her hand, mews into her ear.
"You're beautiful," Joan pants against Stephanie's neck, kissing the line of her jaw. But Stephanie knows that it's a lie.
Sweat makes her skin slick, makes Joan taste like salt. She traces lines over Joan's back, and Joan's fingers slip on Stephanie's thighs. The air conditioner starts to hum on the other side of the room, and they slide a little on the bedsheets. Sweat makes Stephanie's makeup smear.
While Joan stretches and makes satisfied sounds, she eases sideways into the bathroom and showers quickly enough that she's done by the time Joan wants to join her. She uses the mirror on the outside of the door to reapply foundation, blush, while Joan rinses her curly hair with the last third of the motel's tiny shampoo bottle.
"You look really pretty today," Joan smiles, kissing Stephanie's cheek just above the bruise.
Stephanie kisses Joan's temple, which lets her hide her face.
They don't have a continental breakfast, but they do have Joan's leftover vending machine snacks and instant coffee from the supplies in the bathroom. Joan spreads a napkin out and they nibble on Fritos and split a lemon Hostess cake in half.
Joan twists onto her back and props her feet up on the headboard. She's got her hands laced together under her head, and Stephanie sits at the table across from the bed, fixing chipped polish on her fingernails.
"If we stop at a Starbucks, we can pull out one of our computers to find a hotel in Boston," Joan says. "We're going to need a place to stay until we, um..."
Stephanie blows on her pinky and raises an eyebrow. Joan blushes.
"What ... What kind of apartment do you want?" she asks.
Stephanie licks the powdered sugar off of her fingers and crawls in close, resting her head on Joan's shoulder so she can tell her about the apartment she's dreamed of, the place she wants to live with Joan. She tells her about the flower boxes and the short walk to the park, the view of the trees and the brightly colored walls. Joan curls her arm underneath her shoulders and holds her tight, tells her they won't stop looking until Stephanie finds it.
---
Traffic keeps them idling on the highway outside of Boston while Joan tries to find the good radio stations.
She skips to one that’s blasting Bruce Springsteen and grins, stretching as she settles back in her seat. "Welcome home," she tells Stephanie. "Boston's saying hello."
Stephanie grins, and hardly jumps at all when Joan's phone goes off. Joan keeps humming along with the song underneath her breath, fumbling under napkins and take-out receipts until she finds her phone on the floor.
When she winces, Stephanie does too.
[MOM] "WHERE R U" the first text says.
The click-click-click, Joan tells her, is a careful "Just outside of Boston." Stephanie's glad that she's the one driving, the ones with her hands full. (It's Joan's mother, anyway.) Joan kinds of melts backwards into her seat with each message received and sent out.
[MOM] "R U OK???"
[me] "fine srry 4 leaving so fast."
[MOM] "WHEN R U GETTING MARRIED???"
[me] "Have 2 wait at least 3 days."
[MOM] "WHERE R U STAYING????"
"idk", which even Joan admits is a crappy response, especially since they're almost inside Boston now and Stephanie doesn't even know which direction to turn. She has a GPS, but they don't know any addresses to type in.
[MOM] "LET ME FIND U A HOTEL!!"
Joan gives her a nervous smile and they pull into a fast food parking lot, fidget in their seats. A message comes back a few minutes later and Joan stares at her phone, so Stephanie reaches over and squeezes her hand.
The place Mrs L finds for them is nice, a non-smoking single queen, in a good neighborhood, with a free breakfast. She doesn't tell them how much it costs.
Before Stephanie's done typing it into the GPS and just after Joan sends off a "THANK YOU <3 <3 <3", they get one more text. This one's from Larry.
[LARRY] "guess i'm the good kid now :)"
[me] ">>>:| ur not invited to the wedding anymore"
[LARRY] ":((("
[me] "tough luck"
---
Stephanie squeals with delight when they get up to the room, darting all around the suite to take in every part of it. She cheers and does a quick dance to herself before slumping onto the bed and wriggling her toes.
"You like it?"
Stephanie aims for nonchalant. "It'll do."
Unpacking reminds them that Boston is going to be a long-term thing. Stephanie sits in front of the drawers opposite their bed and carefully folds her pants and shirts, smoothes out the wrinkles the trunk forced on them. She's hanging her dresses up in the open closet next to the bathroom when she hears Joan unzip her bag and shake her clothes out on the desk in the corner.
"Joan," she chides, creasing the collar on a shirt dress.
Joan pushes her clothes into little piles. "Hmm?"
"We have drawers."
"I thought you were using them."
Stephanie rolls her eyes. "Not all of them!"
Joan hunches her shoulders a little, but grins. When she's done sorting her things, Stephanie's busy bouncing at the window. Joan creeps up behind her and squeezes her wrists, pressing a kiss against Stephanie's neck.
"Let's go get lunch?"
"Mmm." Stephanie's toes curl. "Pizza."
---
They eat lunch sitting on a bench by the swan boats. It's bright, and sunny. They sit with their faces to the wind so Stephanie's hair keeps off her pepperoni.
"You two don't look like you're from around here."
Joan is licking sauce off of her fingers, so it's up to Stephanie to say hello. The guy who's walked up to them is tallish, and flashes them a grin while he pushes up his sunglasses to show green eyes. Joan tries to eye his dark leather jacket without looking like she is.
"Stephanie," Stephanie says, putting her near-empty plate on her lap. "This is Joan."
The man smiles. "Hello, ladies. I'm George."
"Hello," Stephanie says. Her smile crinkles the corners of her mouth.
Joan takes another bite of pizza and crosses her legs.
"We just got here today," Stephanie says. "Have you ridden the swan boats before?"
"Lots of times." George rocks back on his heels and edges closer to the bench, while Joan edges closer to Stephanie. "You can't miss them. You're visiting? Your accent - somewhere down South, right?"
Stephanie blinks and tries to hold back her blush. She wonders just how bad her drawl really is. "Both of us are from South Carolina."
"I've got a cousin in Charleston." He shakes the helmet in his hand a little. It's one of those big, heavy ones with a visor, the kind that motorcycle drivers wear. "South Cackalacky is a nice place to ride through. Absolutely gorgeous."
"I could let you take a ride if you like, Miss Stephanie." He winks.
Stephanie hesitates. George points at a bike in the parking lot, leaning slightly to one side and painted a screaming red. "I've never ridden one before. It looks really... big."
The man smiles. In the sunlight, even his teeth are winking. "Come on now, there's no need to be afraid. I'm always gentle with the newbies."
Joan laces her fingers through Stephanie's, rests her other hand on Stephanie's arm. "She's my girlfriend."
Stephanie nods enthusiastically. "We're getting married in a few days!"
"Oh." George ruminates, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well, you could both take a ride. Maybe for the bachelorette party...?"
"Sorry," Joan says. She leans back, settles her arm around Stephanie's shoulders. Her teeth are definitely not winking. "But I don't think both of us will fit."
"Oh." Stephanie tilts her head to one side and squeezes Joan's hand. "But you love motorcycles! We could take turns! I won't tell your mom, I promise."
George nods. "Always good to try something new."
"No," Joan insists. She drops her voice and leans in close to Stephanie. "Besides, that's not what he's asking."
"What do you mean?" Stephanie asks. "He said..."
"He wants us to have sex with him!" Joan hisses.
Stephanie's eyes go wide. "Oh."
Joan wraps her arm around Stephanie's shoulder. "You need to go," she tells him, glaring.
"I'm sorry," George says. He sets his helmet down at his feet and sticks out his hand, holding it in front of Joan (who doesn't move, but stares at his fingers). Some light brown hair falls into George's face and he squares his shoulders. "I truly didn't mean to offend you. I'd hate for this to be your introduction to the city. Can we start over? My name's George Arden."
Joan continues to glare at him.
"I could make it up to you, maybe?" George wavers, but doesn't let his hand drop.
Stephanie looks over at Joan and then back at George. She plucks at some loose threads at the bottom of her shirt and sighs. "It would be nice to have someone show us around," she murmurs, which makes the corner of Joan's mouth twitch. "We still need to find an apartment. In a good neighborhood."
"You want him to know where we live?"
"I'm safe!" George protests.
"Why should we trust you?" Joan's hand moves to Stephanie's hair, smoothes it against he shoulders. "We've known you for fifteen minutes, and all you've tried to do this whole time is pick us up. In the middle of the day."
George flushes pink, though the tips of his ears go red. "In my defense, you're very attractive."
Joan scoffs in disgust, shaking her head. "You need to leave us alone now."
George winces. He lets his hand drop and curls it around the edge of his helmet, hefting it in all ten fingers. "Well," he says, wetting his lips. "I hope you have a good wedding."
He turns around and walks away with his shoulders hunched a little. Stephanie watches him go all the way to the pavement at the curb, where he looks over his shoulder at them and ducks, face red, as soon as he catches Stephanie staring. In the back of her mind, Stephanie can hear her mama's voice, asking her "Now are you a lady, or aren't you?" She thinks about Southern hospitality and calling in the stray cats during hurricanes.
Then, she looks over at Joan, who shakes her head.
"No."
"He seemed sweet."
"No, no, no."
"Please?" Stephanie curls both her hands around Joan's arm and smiles, ducking her head so she's looking up into blue eyes. "Can we keep him?" she asks. "It's the right thing to do."
Her eyes are very brown.
Joan huffs. "Fine. Fine. Just... fine. We'll keep him. Will that make you happy? We'll keep him."
Stephanie practically leaps out of her seat. "Thank you!" she squeaks, pecking Joan on the lips. Joan falters, and Stephanie latches onto her wrists. "We're going to love him, really!"
"I doubt it," Joan mumbles, rubbing the back of her neck. But she ghosts her fingertips over her lower lip anyway, and allows herself a secret smile.
When they're halfway across the lawn, Joan cups her hands around her mouth. "I know soccer!" she shouts. George drops his helmet and looks up at them with wide green eyes. "You try anything funny and I will kick you. In the head. I can do that."
Stephanie walks all the way to the sidewalk and smiles. "Do you know where a Bank of America is?"
---
Stephanie's flip-flops press down into plush carpet, beige pressing against faded red worn pink where her toes rest. The bank is cold, and crossing her toes doesn't help them feel any warmer. They're sitting on some chairs in the middle of the lobby, waiting for an office door to open.
Joan's sucking on a butterscotch lollipop.
It's enough to keep Stephanie distracted while she looks at the map George drew for them on the back of a bank brochure. He's left them at the bank alone, while he parks his bike somewhere for the day. He does seem nice enough. And he says he knows where Joan can rent a tux.
When Joan notices her staring, she pops the candy out of her mouth. She waves it in the direction of a bowl near the door and asks, "Do you want one?"
Stephanie smiles up from her underneath her eyelashes. "Sure."
Joan squeezes Stephanie's hand when she hands her the lollipop.
It's just cracked between her teeth when the bank lady comes to collect them. She has forms that Stephanie needs to fill out, and Joan sits in the chair next to her, tapping her feet against the pattern in the carpet. With a new bank account and a number not recorded in South Carolina, Stephanie orders new checkbooks with just one name on them. It'll take longer for the checks to come in than it will for the name change forms to go through.
Stephanie Teresa Stewart. She'll have to relearn her signature.
"You'll have to come back once you have the marriage certificate, but I'll make a note and if you see me I'll help speed you through. And we'll wait to order your checks," the lady says, tapping away at her keyboard. "If you want, when you come back in, we can make you two a joint checking account as well." She quirks a smile at them over the rims of her glasses. "Makes it easier to pay the bills as long as you keep the book balanced."
The paperwork finishes up faster than she expected, and the numbers on the screen flip around, and all of a sudden the money is in Stephanie's name and not hers and her mother's. Just like that, hours of babysitting and months of allowances, hers and hers alone. The lady gives them copies of everything and her business card and a folder about investing, and ushers them out so she can take the next person.
George is sitting on a bench outside and jumps up when they come down the stairs. "The shop isn't far from here," he says. "My roommate has an hour appointment open, and he's fitted women before."
"It shouldn't take an hour," Joan says, shaking her head. But Joan hardly tries on clothes before she buys them, she doesn't know how long it really takes.
Stephanie chews on her lip. "I don't know," she says. "Could we go another day?"
Joan stops dead in the middle of a crosswalk, and Stephanie has to tug her along with them. "Are you okay? Do you want to go back to the hotel and rest?" Her eyes trace the contours of Stephanie's face, carefully avoiding the dark spot on her cheek. "It's no problem if you do," she assures.
Standing on the curb, George is really preoccupied with his shoelaces.
Stephanie stares. "I just -- I need an afternoon. There's so much to think about. We haven't looked at flowers, or jewelry, or makeup or anything. We don't know what colors to get you!"
Joan blinks, her eyes snapping back up to Stephanie's. "Um. Black and white?"
Stephanie frowns. "I don't want my wedding colors to be black and white."
"But tuxes are black and white," Joan says. Stephanie stares at her and she fidgets. "Um. Aren't they?"
Stephanie looks at her like she's just said that the French had it right about the War on Terror.
"Tuxes come with vests," George says, then steps back when Joan turns around to look at him. He yanks his cell phone from his pocket. "I think my grandma's calling me. Just, uh, tap me on the shoulder when you decide."
Once he's moved out of earshot, Joan takes a step closer and puts her hands on Stephanie's hips. "What do you think?" she asks, pressing their foreheads together.
Stephanie swallows. "I just. I need more time. This is happening really fast, and I..."
"Okay." Joan presses a quick kiss to her fiancée's lips. "Okay. Whatever you need."
Since George doesn't actually seem to be using his cell phone, Joan doesn't feel bad about tugging it out of his hands. He blinks at her while she adds in her phone number, Stephanie leaning in over her shoulder. When she sees the phone has picture ID, she wants to take a snapshot of the both of them.
"Hey, Stephi, do you want to take a picture for his ID?" Joan calls, holding out the cellphone and smiling hopefully.
Stephanie shakes her head and smiles faintly. "Maybe later."
Glancing between them, George strikes a pose and rattles out his number. Joan rolls her eyes and hands his phone back to him. Her phone doesn't do photo ID. George's chest deflates a little.
While they're turning away, he snaps his fingers. "Hey, why don't we take a cab back to my place?"
Joan glares at him.
"Not like that," George scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You could meet my roommates! And there's always food around."
"I don't know..." Joan murmurs, glancing sideways at Stephanie.
"Free food," George adds. He looks back and forth between them, while Stephanie bites her lip and Joan scratches the back of her head. "Good food?" he clarifies."I'm not cooking it. It's Swedish food. Like, meatballs and mashed potatoes and borscht and stuff."
"Borscht is from the Ukraine," Joan interjects, and George rolls his eyes.
"Whatever. It's good fucking food. Sorry Stephi," he nods, smiling wryly when Stephanie looks scandalized.
Joan crosses her arms over her chest. "Stephi?" she asks.
"Um." George opens and shuts his mouth. "Steph?" he hazards.
"That's fine," Stephanie says, patting Joan's arm. She takes a breath. Dinner, with new people, maybe friends. New friends. "It might be nice to eat dinner with people," she says, slowly.
Joan slides an arm around her waist. "You sure, babe?"
A lot less work than wedding planning. And she'll probably have a chance to touch up her makeup before they eat. "Yeah."
---
"It might be kind of messy," George says, fiddling with his keys. "My roommate is writing a research paper right now."
Stephanie tilts her head to one side. "How many roommates do you have, again?"
"Just the four. And a lizard, if you want to count him."
Joan looks up for the first time since they got off the elevator. The lobby had been nice, a fake potted plant by the door, and the carpet had a mildly mesmerizing triangular design to it. Before she can ask about the lizard, though, George gets the door unlocked.
"Hey guys! I brought friends!" George calls, swinging the door open with a flourish.
"George, don't say 'guys'," a low, musical voice calls from somewhere inside the kitchen. "There are girls here too, you know."
George blushes as he shuts the door behind them and drops his keys in the key bowl (Joan can tell that there's five sets, all with different key chains). "Sorry, Tina!" he yells, kicking his shoes off underneath the table by the door. Joan follows suit, and Stephanie bends over to carefully slide hers off.
"Who is it?" Tina asks, ambling out of the kitchen. She has purple hair, although it's a darkish kind of purple. She also has on more necklaces than Joan thinks Stephanie owns, total, all silver and sparkling in the lobby lights. Her tank top shows short-sleeve tanlines.
Joan thinks she looks pretty cool.
"Stephanie and Joan," George says, gesturing rather royally at them.
Tina grins. "New people. You didn't say they were new!" She punches George in the arm, hard. "You should have told me, man! The place is a fucking mess."
It doesn't look that bad, Joan thinks. There's a couch and a coffee table covered with papers and books, and stuff that looks like it would normally go there (art books, a bowl of mixed nuts) stacked randomly along the wall. But she can see the floor, and the hardwood isn't even all that dusty.
"Sorry," she continues, turning back to Joan and Stephanie's direction. "It's not normally like this, it's just that Deja's writing a paper, and when she needs to concentrate, God for-bid anyone mess with her stuff..."
"I can hear you," another voice shouts.
"I love you, baby!" Tina shouts back. "But seriously, though," she continues, lowering her voice to a murmur, "She gets really ridiculous when she needs to work."
"I wish you wouldn't punch me," George grumbles. "Deja doesn't punch me."
"That's only because she doesn't want to totally ruin her nails, and your arm is hard," Tina says, raising her hand again. George flinches and Tina grins, dropping her hand to her hip. "So which one of you is which? And how did you meet George?"
"Stephanie's taller, Joan hits me a lot," George says, not even flinching when Joan taps his arm with her fist. She doesn't put a lot of heart behind it. "And they were at the park--"
"He used his motorcycle as a metaphor for his dick and tried to pick us up," Joan says. Tina barks out a laugh and George turns bright red.
Stephanie presses her lips into a thin line. "Joan," she chides.
Head ducked, George rubs the back of his neck and shuffles towards the kitchen. "I'm going to go get you some drinks, okay? We've got water, um, Diet Sprite, Coke, milk, and I think some flavored vodka mess--"
"Don't let Deja hear you say that," Tina warns him. Then, while they tell George what they want, she yells out, "Deja, we have company! I gotta move some of your stuff, baby!"
"I'll do it! Hang on a second!"
Joan and Stephi hover in front of the loveseat, the only piece of furniture without paper all over it. Tina gestures at them to sit down while she stands in front of an armchair.
"While we're trading meeting-George stories," she says, hands on her hips. "I was the first one of us to meet him. He was touring the school and his ass was supposedly 'lost'," she says, even doing finger-quotes around lost. "Despite the fact that Deja and I could see his fucking class ring."
"Are you talking about me?" George yells.
"Yes!" Tina shrugs, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor across from them. "See, I have this theory about him that he likes to pretend to be a total hard-ass, trying to pick up two girls at once, right? But actually he's a totally lesbro at heart and has forgotten how to maintain a relationship with any other kind of person. He's a goddamn puppy dog."
Joan looks down and laughs, shaking her head. "This motherf--"
"JOAN!" Stephanie exclaims, shooting up like a rocket and crossing her arms.
"Sorry," Joan says, flushing from the neck up. It's harder to edit herself around other people who don't turn green at language any stronger than 'drat.' "Stephanie hates it when people curse."
A person wanders into the room who Joan will swear up and down is a flesh-and-blood mold of Buzz Lightyear in his early twenties, with blond hair and a military-issue haircut. He's also wearing gray sweatpants and a navy t-shirt with U.S. NAVY stamped on it in white.
"I can't abide foul language," Stephanie explains with a polite smile, sitting down on the couch and crossing her ankles delicately.
Buzz Lightyear blinks and grins, his smile lighting up his bright blue eyes. "Well that is very sweet," he says.
Rocking back and tossing her head while she laughs, Tina slaps her knee. "Well aren't you just a fucking china doll!"
Stephanie blushes.
"Oh sorry, I mean ... a friggin'?" Tina says, holding her hands up. She winces as the tips of Stephanie's ears go red, but she's holding back laughter at the same time. "No? A. A china doll."
"Aw, stop teasing, Tina," Buzz says.
"Shut the... shut up," Tina giggles, beckoning him to sit down. He does, carefully taking a place on the floor in front of the end of a couch. "Deja will seriously be out in a minute though. At least before we have to eat dinner."
Buzz smiles at them, and Joan can just tell that Stephanie is melting a bit. "Hi," he says, waving. "You're George's guests, I'm guessing? My name's Jonah McClellan. I was George's roommate freshman year."
"Stephanie Stewart," Stephanie says. Joan feels her heart thump in her chest, and she's short of breath long enough that Stephi gestures to her. "This is my fiancée, Joan."
"Jonah's married to the navy," Tina stage-whispers.
"I am not," he says. "I mean, I'm on a track to get into it when I graduate -- I'm a mathematics major."
"He keeps changing," Tina says.
"Every one of my changes has come after long talks with my adviser," Jonah says.
"He's going to change again," George says, appearing behind them. Joan is kind of relieved to see him, and immediately steels herself to keep that off her face. "Pure mathematics is totally useless."
Jonah frowns. "It is not!"
"It doesn't mean anything without practical application," George says, absently waving his hand. He manages not to spill any of the drinks he's holding, and hands Stephanie a water and Joan a Diet Sprite. Joan never thought she would get nostalgic for being offered iced tea.
A tall girl in a short purple dress stumbles out into the hall and blinks three times, slowly.
Tina laughs. "You okay, sweetheart? You look a little…"
The tall girl shakes her head, dark curls bouncing everywhere. "Yeah, no, it's just… a little… the light's…"
She holds up her finger, asking for a moment.
"Hi, I'm Deja," she smiles, bouncing down next to Tina and leaning against her. "Sorry about that, I hadn't gotten up in a while and I was feeling a little… lightheaded." She grimaces. "Graduate work is a real bitch."
Stephanie winces violently.
"I mean it's really hard," Deja corrects, looking taken aback. "Does that… I mean I know it's a sexist pejorative but…"
"Stephanie doesn't like swearing at all," Jonah explains, smiling indulgently.
Deja's lips turn up. "That is adorable."
Tucking her hair behind her bright red ears, Stephanie slides slowly onto the carpet and beckons Joan to join her. "I feel so rude sitting up there while y'all don't have a place to sit."
"Y'all, that is too cute," Tina says. "George, you get your a - your butt down here, stop making us feel awkward standing up like that."
He sits between Stephanie and sprawls his legs out underneath the coffee table, carefully making sure he doesn't knock any books over. "So how is your paper g--" he starts.
Tina slaps a hand over his mouth before he finishes. "I made you a list of questions not to ask a grad student when you moved in with us, George."
"Sorry," he says, muffled.
"So who are we entertaining tonight?" Deja asks, squinting at them a bit.
Stephanie introduces them again (and Joan loses her breath again, for a moment). And Stephanie has always been good at small talk. "We just moved up here from South Carolina. We haven't even gotten an apartment, we've kind of just been excited to be in the city and start planning the wedding."
"How long have you two been planning all this?" George asks.
"Joan proposed Sunday night," she says.
George blinks. "Oh."
"We've been together for a long time," Stephanie murmurs.
Joan tries to think of how long, exactly, and can't. "We've known each other since kindergarten," she supplies.
Tina smiles and squeezes Deja's hand. "That's sweet."
"Joan really wanted to come to school here," Stephanie adds. "It's so far from home, but..."
Jonah clears his throat when her voice drifts off. "Boston is a great city. I think you'll enjoy it."
"We should totally take them out for their bachelorette parties," George says. "There are some great places you should really see."
A pale blond guy eases into the room, oven mitts over his hands, and Joan guesses that this is the cook. She thinks that maybe he looks a little like the Sheriff Woody to Jonah's Buzz. He's certainly got the height for it (although Deja might be taller).
"You're what my sister would call a cad, George."
George snorts. "Your sister likes me, Markus!"
"This is because I lie about you," Markus reasons, and George sputters. Markus looks at them and walks over, extending his hand. Stephanie beams and shakes his hand, and when it's Joan's turn she's surprised at how firm his shake is. "Hello. I am Markus Olsson."
A green head pokes out of his shirt pocket, and Stephanie jumps on the couch beside her. Joan snickers, especially when a frill rises up around the apparently-a-lizard's head.
"Wh - what is that?" Stephanie asks.
Markus looks down and lifts the definitely-a-lizard out of his pocket. He scratches its head and its frill lays down again, its tongue darting out. "This? This is Frodo."
Delicately, Markus takes one of the lizard's tiny green paws between his fingers and makes him wave. "Hello, girls," he says in a falsetto before clucking at the lizard and kissing him on the head.
Joan giggles.
"Don't laugh," Tina says, her dark eyes sparkling. "Frodo is a serious gentleman."
The lizard curls his tail up as Markus tucks him back into his pocket. "I will go get the food," he says. Jonah jumps up to help, and tells them all not to move. Between the two of them everybody has drinks and plates full of some kind of sausage thing in just a few trips.
When Joan is thinking that she's going to have to get the recipe for it, Deja clears her throat. "We do have a table, you know. With chairs."
"It's more fun to eat like this," George says, licking his fork. "Although next time you should make them so that you can eat them without losing your tongue."
"Is the horseradish too hot for you?" Markus asks. Joan can't not see the shape of Frodo in his pocket, now. The lizard seems pretty content to stay there, too.
George makes a face. "I'm drinking milk with dinner, Markus."
"You should be used to it by now," Tina says, sipping her glass. "Besides, don't you put spicy mustard on everything?"
"Not to the point I need a yogurt chaser," George says.
Markus shrugs. "This is the way my family makes it. I will hardly take food criticism from a man who puts mustard on his ice cream."
"Only vanilla!" George protests.
"That's pretty gross," Joan mutters, and not even Stephanie can bring herself to chastise her.
The rest of dinner is not nearly so aggressive, although Deja does get annoyed when Frodo decides it's time to run across the room towards Markus's door down the hallway. Markus shrugs and says he's going to his terrarium.
"I like this place," Stephanie whispers in her ear, squeezing Joan's fingers. "It feels like home, before everyone moved out."
Joan kisses her back (George whistles and Tina punches him), her breath pulsing in her chest.
She thinks it feels better than that. She thinks they fit, here, on the floor with everyone else, Stephanie's legs folded underneath her and Joan's sprawled out without actually knocking into anyone else's.
---
Stephanie sprawls out on the bed while Joan is in the shower. There's not much to sprawl out with, but she manages, damp hair shaken around her face and a magazine open in front of her, her elbows digging into the comforter to keep her chest lifted up. It's thick, enough that Joan keeps calling it a catalog, and she's looking at the bouquets.
She likes the brightly-colored ones that pepper the two-page spread after the pages and pages of identical white ones.
The ones with sunflowers look especially nice.
"Joan?" she calls. She can hear the pipes squeak as the water shuts off, and the shower curtain get yanked aside. Stephanie carefully dog-ears the top corner of the page. "What do you think of sunflowers?"
Grinning crookedly, Joan strides out of the bathroom, holding her towel around her torso. "Sure. I like sunflowers."
Dark hair falling into her eyes, Stephanie has a lot to look at besides how Joan's struggling to tuck her towel into place. She curls a lock around her finger and looks one more time at the bouquet before flipping over to accessories. Dresses seem too big to look at before they've even had breakfast.
She looks at the way the veils fall around shoulders, collarbones, breasts. She wonders if how long it is depends on the top on her dress, and if she'll have to choose the dress before she puts on a veil.
Joan sinks onto the bed next to her and drips on her shoulder while she leans over to examine the pages. "I like that one," she whispers, pointing.
Head tucked down, Stephanie smiles. "That's my favorite."
Pulling on the corner of Joan's towel, Stephanie turns her head and presses her mouth against Joan's. Joan inhales, a little, and eases down onto the mattress to pull Stephanie on top of her. Stephanie makes sure to fold the magazine closed and push it to the corner of the bed.
Joan wriggles the towel off her body and throws it into the corner to lie in a damp pile. Stephanie presses her lips to one of the droplets of water peppering Joan's skin and sucks, her teeth digging into the hollow between Joan's neck and shoulder. Her fingers tighten around Joan's hips, thumbs pressing hard into her skin.
Wrapping her arms around the small of Stephanie’s back, Joan presses her in closer, inhales her shampoo and sweet-smelling perfume. She catches her teeth on Stephanie's earlobe, and Stephanie giggles, her fingers brushing against the dark, coarse hairs between Joan's thighs.
"Excuse me, ma'am, you seem to be a bit overdressed," Joan mumbles, smiling sideways and reaching under Stephanie’s nightgown to unhook the front of her bra. "Let me help you with that."
Stephanie rolls her eyes, but she still shudders when Joan's hands skate over her breasts and yelps when one of Joan’s clipped fingernails scratches against her nipple.
"Quiet," Joan giggles, flipping Stephanie over to roll on top of her. "Hotel walls can be pretty thin. And you wouldn't want anyone to know exactly what we're doing in here," Joan drawls, hooking the waistband of Stephanie's panties.
"Of course not. I'm not an exhibitionist, Joan!" Stephanie huffs, kissing Joan again on the mouth. But her eyes widen and she wriggles further into the mattress, guiding Joan's hands to yank her underwear off.
Joan is pretty sure being married will be awesome.
---
"How many people do you want to invite?" Stephanie asks, chewing on the end of a pen.
Joan is on her computer, looking through apartment listings, because they can't stay in the hotel forever even if they do replace the shampoo and soap every day. She peers up over the monitor, reading glasses slipping down her nose.
"I dunno," she says, shrugging. "My mom and my brother."
"That's it?" Stephanie asks skeptically, glancing down at her list. "No-one from school or anything?"
Joan shrugs. "I didn't exactly have a lot of friends there."
Besides, she doesn't think anyone from school is likely to show up. But she isn't going to tell Stephanie that.
Stephanie taps her pen against the pad of hotel paper she's balancing on her knees. Her hair is still wet from the shower, Joan's already dried off, and it's left big damp spots on the shoulders of the oversized t-shirt she stole from Joan's duffel bag. In between clicking links on Google and comparing neighborhood names to maybe outdated maps of Boston, she's been watching the way Stephanie wriggles her toes as she writes.
"I've got Marge, from the squad, and then Linda, and I thought you would want Hunter to come, since he was on the soccer team with you. And I really want George to come."
The only picture Joan can get in her head after that is Stephanie in her wedding dress on the back of George's motorcycle. "Okay," she says, shrugging. Stephanie grins.
"I think we should invite the rest of his roommates, too," she goes on, sketching out their names. Joan is impressed that she got everyone's last name memorized. "They all seemed so nice and it would be great to have more people there. And you liked Tina, right?"
Joan grins without thinking about it. "She was cool."
Stephanie takes a breath, "Okay. And then there's all my siblings and my parents but they're going to take up a lot of room, especially if they bring their kids with them and do you think it would be rude to say we don't want kids at the wedding? Only I wanted one of my nieces to be the flower girl, and your brother is too old to be the ring boy, and are you sure there's no one else for your side because it's going to look a bit unbalanced."
Joan's glasses slide off her nose.
"Um," she says. "Are you sure - are you sure that..."
"What?"
Joan feels like she's swallowed honey. She chews on her lip. "I don't think we can count on all those people to come," she says, as gently as she can.
Stephanie smiles, breezing by Joan's concerns. "Oh, well, on such short notice, obviously not. Do you think it would help if we postponed..."
Picking up her glasses, Joan stares at the rims, twirls them around between her fingers. "I don't," she starts. She can hear Stephanie shift on the bed, but she doesn't look up. A breath rushes out of her, and she mumbles, "I don't think so, Stephi."
Stephanie's bright smiles fades in confusion. "Well, okay then," she says. Joan glances up to see her scratching at the edge of her paper with her pen, and freezes when Stephanie catches her eye. "I know Marge and you didn't get along, and she might not come, but... she was nice to me, and I'd still like to extend a hand."
It rushes out faster than it had even come up in her mind. "I just," Joan says, reaching out to lay her hand over Stephanie's ankle, "I just don't want you to be too disappointed if your parents don't come."
Stephanie laughs, but she pulls her ankle away. "Well, of course they're going to be there! They're my parents!"
Joan tries not to look at the blue ring at the corner of Stephanie's eye. "I'm not sure we should get our hopes up," she says.
"They'll come," Stephanie insists, waving dismissively. Some of her damp hair falls over her eyes and she bats it away, dropping her pen in her lap. "My mom always talked about my wedding. And my dad's walked all my sisters down the aisle. He wouldn't want me walking by myself."
Sighing, Joan folds up her laptop and reaches for Stephanie's hand. "Let's just go do something, okay?"
Fingers laced together, Stephanie's eyes light up. "We never did get to the swan boats."
---
The boat rocks a little bit when Stephanie steps inside, her heel clicking against the wooden bottom. Joan lets go of her hand once she's got her balance back, and she scoots along the bench until she's at the edge. There's enough people on their row that Joan wraps an arm around Stephanie's waist to get closer.
They set off with a small splash.
Stephanie's hand skims through the water. Her other hand rests on Joan's knee, and she leans her head against Joan's shoulder.
That's how they look in the photo. Joan passed the camera to the person in front of them, and the zoom is just enough to crop out the little kid next to Joan who kept trying to wriggle over their knees and get to the water.
Stephanie wants to buy a frame as soon as she sees it on the camera's screen.
---
Stephanie brought the wedding magazine with them, and drops it down on the table while Joan bustles up to the counter to get them lunch. The pages have been heavy in her purse all day, and she kept rearranging the strap, but now that it's open on the table in front of her she doesn't regret bringing it. The cover arrangement, the model, the articles, are like the ones her mother picked out for the last of her sisters who got married.
Joan is leaning against the counter, watching her, and she waves instead of bringing her compact out to check the makeup around her eye. At least people look at the magazine, not her face, when they walk by.
On the floor between her feet, her purse buzzes. She wonders why Mrs. L would text her and not Joan, until she has the phone in her hand and sees the message isn't from Mrs. L at all.
With an almost clinical detachment, Stephanie watches it blink stark green against the black background.
[MOM] "where r u, stephanie?"
Lunch tray in hand, Joan freezes, blue eyes widening as she studies Stephanie's face. "Stephi? Is something wrong?"
If she Google-mapped it, Stephanie would know she was in a sandwich shop in the middle of a block exactly 2.5 miles from their hotel. A forty-five minute walk, fifteen minutes by bus, twenty-five by car at this time of day.
She looks at Joan, wondering how she missed her walking up to the table. "It's from my mom," she says, the lunch tray set in front of her. Joan stops with one hand on her chair, only half-easing down into it. Stephanie's heart has hardly sped up. The green characters seem a long way away. "She wants to know where we are."
Joan swears under her breath, pushing her hand through her hair. "Well. What are you gonna tell her?"
Stephanie licks her lip and ghosts her thumb over the keys on her phone. "Um, I need to tell her about the wedding, I guess. I know we haven't settled on a date or sent out invitations yet, but..."
Joan slams her straw down on the table to break open the paper. She stares while she peels it apart. Stephanie holds her thumb above the keys until Joan glances up. "...Maybe you should wait until we're done eating," she finally says.
A genuine, brilliant Stephanie smile washes over her face, and she reaches out to take Joan's hand. "Good idea," she whispers, and Joan squeezes her fingers.
She tucks the magazine and the phone back into her purse, and opens up the wrapping on the panini Joan brought her. Maybe her mom will have some ideas on what kind of food they should order for the reception.
"I'm excited," she says, stabbing into her salad with a plastic fork. "My mom did a really good job helping to plan my sisters' weddings."
Joan's smile slips, and Stephanie's eyes widen. "Not that you and your mom can't help out, too, if you want! I wouldn't want to exclude you."
"Stephanie, if your mom wants to help, you two can be in charge of as much as you want," Joan promises.
Stephanie's face lights up. "See, I knew you'd understand!"
When Stephanie leans across the table and presses her lips against Joan’s, Joan can feel Stephanie’s lip gloss smear across her mouth. She dots another quick kiss to Joan’s cheek, but Joan doesn’t have the heart to wipe the gloss away.
Instead, she swallows a green pepper and glances at her watch. "We still have a lot of daylight left. Is there anything else you wanted to do today?"
Stephanie mulls it over. "No," she says. "I think maybe we should make a list of what we really want in an apartment, so we can start seriously looking. And I want to get back to my mom about the wedding and everything."
One side of Joan's mouth curls higher than the other. "Okay."
Between Stephanie's feet, her purse buzzes again, but it's too loud in the shop now for her to notice.
Part Two
Author: politicette, themistoklis
Fandom: Fake News: The Daily Show, The Colbert Report
Characters/Pairings: cis!girls "Stephanie" Colbert/Joan Stewart (genderbended from "Stephen" Colbert, Jon Stewart), assorted "Colbert" family members, assorted original characters
Rating: R
Length: ~26,300 words
Warnings: TRIGGER WARNINGS for domestic violence, homophobia, alcohol use
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Notes: Thank you so much to paperscribe for betaing this piece for us. We started it so long ago we legitimately do not remember most of the first half, but apparently it's in okay shape.
Summary: Joan and "Stephanie" run away from home to get married, and it's going to be totally awesome.
Joan packs while Stephanie sits in the bathroom with the door cracked. She perches on the edge of the counter, leans as far over the sink as she can without her forehead bumping against the mirror. She smoothes foundation over the bruise under her eye.
"He hit me," she murmurs absently, touching the mottled blue and black spot underneath her eye. "My own father."
There's a rap at the door and Joan speaks without tugging it open any further. Stephanie nearly tumbles into the sink. "Do you, um. Do you want some ice?"
Stephanie shakes her head vehemently. "I can do this on my own."
"But you don't have to," Joan protests. Her fingers curl around the door and she eases it open just wide enough to stick her face in, curls tousled and blue eyes wide.
Stephanie meets Joan's eyes in the mirror. Her lip wobbles for a moment, and she clamps it between her teeth to stop it from trembling. "No," she finally insists, lowering her gaze. "I can do this on my own."
The door creaks when Joan yanks it open, and shudders when she snaps it shut behind her. Stephanie knocks her makeup into the sink and digs her chin into her chest, her feet almost scraping the floor while Joan wraps her arms around her waist. She's patted on enough foundation to cover half the bruise, and she can't cry now, with Joan holding her so tight. If she cries into Joan's shirt now, she'll ruin her hard work.
But she doesn't have to cry, because Joan is murmuring low in her ear, her voice smooth and soft like Stephanie' favorite sweater. "It's going to be okay," she promises, kneading little circles into Stephanie's lower back. "It's going to be okay. We're getting out of here."
Stephanie can't fix Boston in her mind. All she knows is that it's near the water, and crowded, and turns white in the winter. It's where Joan is going to school and it's where she applied, too, beating her parents to the mailbox every day to grab the fat Boston College acceptance envelope she stuffed into the glove box of her car. A good Catholic school, in an Irish Catholic city, sealed with the Colbert stamp of approval.
Stephanie can't fix it in her mind. But it's where Joan wants to be, and it snows, and they can get married by the sea. That's good enough for her.
Joan threads her fingers through Stephanie's hair and tilts Stephanie's face towards her own. Stephanie thinks her lips are even softer than her voice, that the quickened pulse of her heart is even more comforting than her thick sweaters.
"I have to finish packing now," Joan whispers against Stephanie's hair, pressing one last kiss to her temple. Stephanie groans a little, afraid that Joan will take her warm-sweater feel with her, but she doesn't. She stays warm and heavy around Stephanie's shoulders. Solid. Palpable.
The door open on the hallway, she turns back to the mirror and finishes as much as she can. There's still a smear of dark under her eye, but she's sure that before it fades she'll get good enough to mask it entirely.
When she's done, she snaps her makeup case closed and carries it down to Joan's room.
The seams on her soccer bag, the duffel she took on overnight trips with the team when she got her own room at hotels because she was the only girl, are nearly bursting. Stephanie doesn't know how much can fit in there, but apparently it's enough clothes to last, because her closet door is shut and the open drawers in her dresser are all empty.
Joan's kneeling in front of her bookshelf, stuffing things into a giant black trash bag.
She sighs, weighing each well-worn volume in her hands. Regretfully, she places the heavier books back onto the shelf and piles in comic books, magazines, and paperbacks.
When the last of the books are packed away, Joan stands up and straightens her t-shirt, pulls on the waistband of her shorts. "Aw, shit," she swears, throwing the trash bag onto her bed. "I need something to wear for the wedding."
"Joan," Stephanie frowns at the language.
"Stephi, please tell me that I don't have to wear a dress," Joan scowls, striding over to her to twist the hem of her shirt. "You won't make me wear a dress, right?"
Shuddering when Joan slides a hand up her tee, Stephanie swallows. "Of course not," she breathes.
"Awesome," Joan grins.
---
Mom,
Gone to Boston to get married when you're ready to join us. Come up soon.
Love,
Joan
PS Bring Larry
---
"Which car should we take?" Joan is standing at the door of her battered Oldsmobile and staring straight at Stephanie's Mustang, rolling her keys between her palms.
Stephanie shrugs. "You can drive mine if you like."
Joan swallows a noise and pats the side view mirror on her car before skipping over to the 'Stang. She skims her fingers up the hood, runs her palm along the side, presses her fingertips into the red paint. Stephanie stands to the side and watches, familiar with the movement of Joan's hands, the cant to her fingers, every bit as tender as when they're on skin instead of metal.
Watching Joan's hands skating over the sides of the car, Stephanie wonders where she could get a dress in that same bright red.
They leave without any lights coming on in the houses they pass, and find the edge of town sooner than Stephanie thought was possible. She keeps her hand curled around her seat belt the whole first leg of the trip, watching the driver's seat from the corner of her eye. Joan's eyes shine when she drives.
They don't click to a stop until they reach the northern edge of North Carolina, and Joan, who never got around to getting dinner, buys enough for one from the vending machines at the rest stop. She takes Stephanie's seat and hands over the keys.
Stephanie gets them back onto the highway as fast as possible, then breaks the speed limit. They don't see another set of headlights for miles, and that's only across the divider, so Stephanie keeps her foot on the pedal and lets cool air pour over them through cracked windows.
The wind ruffles Joan's hair after she falls asleep, twisted a little in her seat so she's facing Stephanie. Her mouth hangs half open and Stephanie watches her in short bursts during moments when they're not sharing the road with anyone else.
By the time Joan wakes up, it's already dark, and they've crossed the border into Maryland. Stephanie's eyelids are drooping, and the harder she fights to keep them open, the heavier they seem to get.
"Stephi," Joan coaxes, reaching out and rubbing Stephanie's shoulder, "We need to stop somewhere. You need sleep."
Stephanie scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine!"
"No, babe." Joan's voice is firm, insistent. "We need to look for a hotel."
"I'm really fine," Stephanie gripes, but she pulls into the nearest exit anyway.
The motel's sign glows bright yellow at them from the side of the road, and Stephanie slows down just enough not to clip the curb when she swerves into the parking lot. The rate on the sign is low, and Joan slinks out of the car with her wallet to pay for the room while Stephanie sits in the car with her head resting on the steering wheel. She has to pry her fingers off when Joan comes back to rap on the window. They're on the second floor.
In the parking lot, a group of shady-looking men call out to Stephanie, making lewd comments that only turn for the worse when Joan tightens her arm around Stephanie's waist. The whole place smells of cigarettes and stale beer.
"It's not so bad in the rooms," Joan promises. "And there's a deadbolt on the door."
Stephanie checks it three times once they're inside, and draws the curtains tight.
"Stephi," Joan calls when she circles back around to check the door for the fourth time. "Come to bed." She stretches out sleepily, pats the space beside her on the mattress.
They couldn't find Stephanie's bag in the dark, so she's wearing one of Joan's big t-shirts. It rides up around her hips when she slithers under the covers, the sheets cool against her skin. Joan clicks off the lamp and tangles their legs together, letting Stephanie bury her face against the crook of her neck.
"I'm really not that tired," she insists, snaking her hand up to rest suggestively between them. But her eyes flutter closed anyway, her breathing deep and even.
Joan sighs. Maybe in the morning.
---
Stephanie wakes up first, to murky sunlight and quiet snoring coming from the pillow next to her. The shoes closest to the door are Joan's sneakers, so she slips her feet in and pads down to the car to wrestle her makeup bag from the bottom of the trunk. The parking lot is empty, and she doesn't catch any catcalls walking back up the stairs in only Joan's t-shirt.
She takes off the sneakers by the door and shuts the bathroom door behind her.
The bruise has turned a nasty shade of mottled yellow, and the dark streaks all up her cheekbone and across her temple resist the liberal amounts of concealer she dabs over them. She keeps going, though, until it's hidden enough not to be too obvious with the lights off and the curtains drawn.
Peeling off her shirt, Stephanie crawls next to Joan. She runs her hands over Joan's bare torso, traces the lines of Joan's neck with her tongue. Joan's eyes flutter open, and Stephanie smiles, moving lower and guiding Joan's hand to tangle in her long, dark hair. Joan holds Stephanie's wrists against the mattress when she returns the favor, and Stephanie bucks against her hand, mews into her ear.
"You're beautiful," Joan pants against Stephanie's neck, kissing the line of her jaw. But Stephanie knows that it's a lie.
Sweat makes her skin slick, makes Joan taste like salt. She traces lines over Joan's back, and Joan's fingers slip on Stephanie's thighs. The air conditioner starts to hum on the other side of the room, and they slide a little on the bedsheets. Sweat makes Stephanie's makeup smear.
While Joan stretches and makes satisfied sounds, she eases sideways into the bathroom and showers quickly enough that she's done by the time Joan wants to join her. She uses the mirror on the outside of the door to reapply foundation, blush, while Joan rinses her curly hair with the last third of the motel's tiny shampoo bottle.
"You look really pretty today," Joan smiles, kissing Stephanie's cheek just above the bruise.
Stephanie kisses Joan's temple, which lets her hide her face.
They don't have a continental breakfast, but they do have Joan's leftover vending machine snacks and instant coffee from the supplies in the bathroom. Joan spreads a napkin out and they nibble on Fritos and split a lemon Hostess cake in half.
Joan twists onto her back and props her feet up on the headboard. She's got her hands laced together under her head, and Stephanie sits at the table across from the bed, fixing chipped polish on her fingernails.
"If we stop at a Starbucks, we can pull out one of our computers to find a hotel in Boston," Joan says. "We're going to need a place to stay until we, um..."
Stephanie blows on her pinky and raises an eyebrow. Joan blushes.
"What ... What kind of apartment do you want?" she asks.
Stephanie licks the powdered sugar off of her fingers and crawls in close, resting her head on Joan's shoulder so she can tell her about the apartment she's dreamed of, the place she wants to live with Joan. She tells her about the flower boxes and the short walk to the park, the view of the trees and the brightly colored walls. Joan curls her arm underneath her shoulders and holds her tight, tells her they won't stop looking until Stephanie finds it.
---
Traffic keeps them idling on the highway outside of Boston while Joan tries to find the good radio stations.
She skips to one that’s blasting Bruce Springsteen and grins, stretching as she settles back in her seat. "Welcome home," she tells Stephanie. "Boston's saying hello."
Stephanie grins, and hardly jumps at all when Joan's phone goes off. Joan keeps humming along with the song underneath her breath, fumbling under napkins and take-out receipts until she finds her phone on the floor.
When she winces, Stephanie does too.
[MOM] "WHERE R U" the first text says.
The click-click-click, Joan tells her, is a careful "Just outside of Boston." Stephanie's glad that she's the one driving, the ones with her hands full. (It's Joan's mother, anyway.) Joan kinds of melts backwards into her seat with each message received and sent out.
[MOM] "R U OK???"
[me] "fine srry 4 leaving so fast."
[MOM] "WHEN R U GETTING MARRIED???"
[me] "Have 2 wait at least 3 days."
[MOM] "WHERE R U STAYING????"
"idk", which even Joan admits is a crappy response, especially since they're almost inside Boston now and Stephanie doesn't even know which direction to turn. She has a GPS, but they don't know any addresses to type in.
[MOM] "LET ME FIND U A HOTEL!!"
Joan gives her a nervous smile and they pull into a fast food parking lot, fidget in their seats. A message comes back a few minutes later and Joan stares at her phone, so Stephanie reaches over and squeezes her hand.
The place Mrs L finds for them is nice, a non-smoking single queen, in a good neighborhood, with a free breakfast. She doesn't tell them how much it costs.
Before Stephanie's done typing it into the GPS and just after Joan sends off a "THANK YOU <3 <3 <3", they get one more text. This one's from Larry.
[LARRY] "guess i'm the good kid now :)"
[me] ">>>:| ur not invited to the wedding anymore"
[LARRY] ":((("
[me] "tough luck"
---
Stephanie squeals with delight when they get up to the room, darting all around the suite to take in every part of it. She cheers and does a quick dance to herself before slumping onto the bed and wriggling her toes.
"You like it?"
Stephanie aims for nonchalant. "It'll do."
Unpacking reminds them that Boston is going to be a long-term thing. Stephanie sits in front of the drawers opposite their bed and carefully folds her pants and shirts, smoothes out the wrinkles the trunk forced on them. She's hanging her dresses up in the open closet next to the bathroom when she hears Joan unzip her bag and shake her clothes out on the desk in the corner.
"Joan," she chides, creasing the collar on a shirt dress.
Joan pushes her clothes into little piles. "Hmm?"
"We have drawers."
"I thought you were using them."
Stephanie rolls her eyes. "Not all of them!"
Joan hunches her shoulders a little, but grins. When she's done sorting her things, Stephanie's busy bouncing at the window. Joan creeps up behind her and squeezes her wrists, pressing a kiss against Stephanie's neck.
"Let's go get lunch?"
"Mmm." Stephanie's toes curl. "Pizza."
---
They eat lunch sitting on a bench by the swan boats. It's bright, and sunny. They sit with their faces to the wind so Stephanie's hair keeps off her pepperoni.
"You two don't look like you're from around here."
Joan is licking sauce off of her fingers, so it's up to Stephanie to say hello. The guy who's walked up to them is tallish, and flashes them a grin while he pushes up his sunglasses to show green eyes. Joan tries to eye his dark leather jacket without looking like she is.
"Stephanie," Stephanie says, putting her near-empty plate on her lap. "This is Joan."
The man smiles. "Hello, ladies. I'm George."
"Hello," Stephanie says. Her smile crinkles the corners of her mouth.
Joan takes another bite of pizza and crosses her legs.
"We just got here today," Stephanie says. "Have you ridden the swan boats before?"
"Lots of times." George rocks back on his heels and edges closer to the bench, while Joan edges closer to Stephanie. "You can't miss them. You're visiting? Your accent - somewhere down South, right?"
Stephanie blinks and tries to hold back her blush. She wonders just how bad her drawl really is. "Both of us are from South Carolina."
"I've got a cousin in Charleston." He shakes the helmet in his hand a little. It's one of those big, heavy ones with a visor, the kind that motorcycle drivers wear. "South Cackalacky is a nice place to ride through. Absolutely gorgeous."
"I could let you take a ride if you like, Miss Stephanie." He winks.
Stephanie hesitates. George points at a bike in the parking lot, leaning slightly to one side and painted a screaming red. "I've never ridden one before. It looks really... big."
The man smiles. In the sunlight, even his teeth are winking. "Come on now, there's no need to be afraid. I'm always gentle with the newbies."
Joan laces her fingers through Stephanie's, rests her other hand on Stephanie's arm. "She's my girlfriend."
Stephanie nods enthusiastically. "We're getting married in a few days!"
"Oh." George ruminates, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well, you could both take a ride. Maybe for the bachelorette party...?"
"Sorry," Joan says. She leans back, settles her arm around Stephanie's shoulders. Her teeth are definitely not winking. "But I don't think both of us will fit."
"Oh." Stephanie tilts her head to one side and squeezes Joan's hand. "But you love motorcycles! We could take turns! I won't tell your mom, I promise."
George nods. "Always good to try something new."
"No," Joan insists. She drops her voice and leans in close to Stephanie. "Besides, that's not what he's asking."
"What do you mean?" Stephanie asks. "He said..."
"He wants us to have sex with him!" Joan hisses.
Stephanie's eyes go wide. "Oh."
Joan wraps her arm around Stephanie's shoulder. "You need to go," she tells him, glaring.
"I'm sorry," George says. He sets his helmet down at his feet and sticks out his hand, holding it in front of Joan (who doesn't move, but stares at his fingers). Some light brown hair falls into George's face and he squares his shoulders. "I truly didn't mean to offend you. I'd hate for this to be your introduction to the city. Can we start over? My name's George Arden."
Joan continues to glare at him.
"I could make it up to you, maybe?" George wavers, but doesn't let his hand drop.
Stephanie looks over at Joan and then back at George. She plucks at some loose threads at the bottom of her shirt and sighs. "It would be nice to have someone show us around," she murmurs, which makes the corner of Joan's mouth twitch. "We still need to find an apartment. In a good neighborhood."
"You want him to know where we live?"
"I'm safe!" George protests.
"Why should we trust you?" Joan's hand moves to Stephanie's hair, smoothes it against he shoulders. "We've known you for fifteen minutes, and all you've tried to do this whole time is pick us up. In the middle of the day."
George flushes pink, though the tips of his ears go red. "In my defense, you're very attractive."
Joan scoffs in disgust, shaking her head. "You need to leave us alone now."
George winces. He lets his hand drop and curls it around the edge of his helmet, hefting it in all ten fingers. "Well," he says, wetting his lips. "I hope you have a good wedding."
He turns around and walks away with his shoulders hunched a little. Stephanie watches him go all the way to the pavement at the curb, where he looks over his shoulder at them and ducks, face red, as soon as he catches Stephanie staring. In the back of her mind, Stephanie can hear her mama's voice, asking her "Now are you a lady, or aren't you?" She thinks about Southern hospitality and calling in the stray cats during hurricanes.
Then, she looks over at Joan, who shakes her head.
"No."
"He seemed sweet."
"No, no, no."
"Please?" Stephanie curls both her hands around Joan's arm and smiles, ducking her head so she's looking up into blue eyes. "Can we keep him?" she asks. "It's the right thing to do."
Her eyes are very brown.
Joan huffs. "Fine. Fine. Just... fine. We'll keep him. Will that make you happy? We'll keep him."
Stephanie practically leaps out of her seat. "Thank you!" she squeaks, pecking Joan on the lips. Joan falters, and Stephanie latches onto her wrists. "We're going to love him, really!"
"I doubt it," Joan mumbles, rubbing the back of her neck. But she ghosts her fingertips over her lower lip anyway, and allows herself a secret smile.
When they're halfway across the lawn, Joan cups her hands around her mouth. "I know soccer!" she shouts. George drops his helmet and looks up at them with wide green eyes. "You try anything funny and I will kick you. In the head. I can do that."
Stephanie walks all the way to the sidewalk and smiles. "Do you know where a Bank of America is?"
---
Stephanie's flip-flops press down into plush carpet, beige pressing against faded red worn pink where her toes rest. The bank is cold, and crossing her toes doesn't help them feel any warmer. They're sitting on some chairs in the middle of the lobby, waiting for an office door to open.
Joan's sucking on a butterscotch lollipop.
It's enough to keep Stephanie distracted while she looks at the map George drew for them on the back of a bank brochure. He's left them at the bank alone, while he parks his bike somewhere for the day. He does seem nice enough. And he says he knows where Joan can rent a tux.
When Joan notices her staring, she pops the candy out of her mouth. She waves it in the direction of a bowl near the door and asks, "Do you want one?"
Stephanie smiles up from her underneath her eyelashes. "Sure."
Joan squeezes Stephanie's hand when she hands her the lollipop.
It's just cracked between her teeth when the bank lady comes to collect them. She has forms that Stephanie needs to fill out, and Joan sits in the chair next to her, tapping her feet against the pattern in the carpet. With a new bank account and a number not recorded in South Carolina, Stephanie orders new checkbooks with just one name on them. It'll take longer for the checks to come in than it will for the name change forms to go through.
Stephanie Teresa Stewart. She'll have to relearn her signature.
"You'll have to come back once you have the marriage certificate, but I'll make a note and if you see me I'll help speed you through. And we'll wait to order your checks," the lady says, tapping away at her keyboard. "If you want, when you come back in, we can make you two a joint checking account as well." She quirks a smile at them over the rims of her glasses. "Makes it easier to pay the bills as long as you keep the book balanced."
The paperwork finishes up faster than she expected, and the numbers on the screen flip around, and all of a sudden the money is in Stephanie's name and not hers and her mother's. Just like that, hours of babysitting and months of allowances, hers and hers alone. The lady gives them copies of everything and her business card and a folder about investing, and ushers them out so she can take the next person.
George is sitting on a bench outside and jumps up when they come down the stairs. "The shop isn't far from here," he says. "My roommate has an hour appointment open, and he's fitted women before."
"It shouldn't take an hour," Joan says, shaking her head. But Joan hardly tries on clothes before she buys them, she doesn't know how long it really takes.
Stephanie chews on her lip. "I don't know," she says. "Could we go another day?"
Joan stops dead in the middle of a crosswalk, and Stephanie has to tug her along with them. "Are you okay? Do you want to go back to the hotel and rest?" Her eyes trace the contours of Stephanie's face, carefully avoiding the dark spot on her cheek. "It's no problem if you do," she assures.
Standing on the curb, George is really preoccupied with his shoelaces.
Stephanie stares. "I just -- I need an afternoon. There's so much to think about. We haven't looked at flowers, or jewelry, or makeup or anything. We don't know what colors to get you!"
Joan blinks, her eyes snapping back up to Stephanie's. "Um. Black and white?"
Stephanie frowns. "I don't want my wedding colors to be black and white."
"But tuxes are black and white," Joan says. Stephanie stares at her and she fidgets. "Um. Aren't they?"
Stephanie looks at her like she's just said that the French had it right about the War on Terror.
"Tuxes come with vests," George says, then steps back when Joan turns around to look at him. He yanks his cell phone from his pocket. "I think my grandma's calling me. Just, uh, tap me on the shoulder when you decide."
Once he's moved out of earshot, Joan takes a step closer and puts her hands on Stephanie's hips. "What do you think?" she asks, pressing their foreheads together.
Stephanie swallows. "I just. I need more time. This is happening really fast, and I..."
"Okay." Joan presses a quick kiss to her fiancée's lips. "Okay. Whatever you need."
Since George doesn't actually seem to be using his cell phone, Joan doesn't feel bad about tugging it out of his hands. He blinks at her while she adds in her phone number, Stephanie leaning in over her shoulder. When she sees the phone has picture ID, she wants to take a snapshot of the both of them.
"Hey, Stephi, do you want to take a picture for his ID?" Joan calls, holding out the cellphone and smiling hopefully.
Stephanie shakes her head and smiles faintly. "Maybe later."
Glancing between them, George strikes a pose and rattles out his number. Joan rolls her eyes and hands his phone back to him. Her phone doesn't do photo ID. George's chest deflates a little.
While they're turning away, he snaps his fingers. "Hey, why don't we take a cab back to my place?"
Joan glares at him.
"Not like that," George scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You could meet my roommates! And there's always food around."
"I don't know..." Joan murmurs, glancing sideways at Stephanie.
"Free food," George adds. He looks back and forth between them, while Stephanie bites her lip and Joan scratches the back of her head. "Good food?" he clarifies."I'm not cooking it. It's Swedish food. Like, meatballs and mashed potatoes and borscht and stuff."
"Borscht is from the Ukraine," Joan interjects, and George rolls his eyes.
"Whatever. It's good fucking food. Sorry Stephi," he nods, smiling wryly when Stephanie looks scandalized.
Joan crosses her arms over her chest. "Stephi?" she asks.
"Um." George opens and shuts his mouth. "Steph?" he hazards.
"That's fine," Stephanie says, patting Joan's arm. She takes a breath. Dinner, with new people, maybe friends. New friends. "It might be nice to eat dinner with people," she says, slowly.
Joan slides an arm around her waist. "You sure, babe?"
A lot less work than wedding planning. And she'll probably have a chance to touch up her makeup before they eat. "Yeah."
---
"It might be kind of messy," George says, fiddling with his keys. "My roommate is writing a research paper right now."
Stephanie tilts her head to one side. "How many roommates do you have, again?"
"Just the four. And a lizard, if you want to count him."
Joan looks up for the first time since they got off the elevator. The lobby had been nice, a fake potted plant by the door, and the carpet had a mildly mesmerizing triangular design to it. Before she can ask about the lizard, though, George gets the door unlocked.
"Hey guys! I brought friends!" George calls, swinging the door open with a flourish.
"George, don't say 'guys'," a low, musical voice calls from somewhere inside the kitchen. "There are girls here too, you know."
George blushes as he shuts the door behind them and drops his keys in the key bowl (Joan can tell that there's five sets, all with different key chains). "Sorry, Tina!" he yells, kicking his shoes off underneath the table by the door. Joan follows suit, and Stephanie bends over to carefully slide hers off.
"Who is it?" Tina asks, ambling out of the kitchen. She has purple hair, although it's a darkish kind of purple. She also has on more necklaces than Joan thinks Stephanie owns, total, all silver and sparkling in the lobby lights. Her tank top shows short-sleeve tanlines.
Joan thinks she looks pretty cool.
"Stephanie and Joan," George says, gesturing rather royally at them.
Tina grins. "New people. You didn't say they were new!" She punches George in the arm, hard. "You should have told me, man! The place is a fucking mess."
It doesn't look that bad, Joan thinks. There's a couch and a coffee table covered with papers and books, and stuff that looks like it would normally go there (art books, a bowl of mixed nuts) stacked randomly along the wall. But she can see the floor, and the hardwood isn't even all that dusty.
"Sorry," she continues, turning back to Joan and Stephanie's direction. "It's not normally like this, it's just that Deja's writing a paper, and when she needs to concentrate, God for-bid anyone mess with her stuff..."
"I can hear you," another voice shouts.
"I love you, baby!" Tina shouts back. "But seriously, though," she continues, lowering her voice to a murmur, "She gets really ridiculous when she needs to work."
"I wish you wouldn't punch me," George grumbles. "Deja doesn't punch me."
"That's only because she doesn't want to totally ruin her nails, and your arm is hard," Tina says, raising her hand again. George flinches and Tina grins, dropping her hand to her hip. "So which one of you is which? And how did you meet George?"
"Stephanie's taller, Joan hits me a lot," George says, not even flinching when Joan taps his arm with her fist. She doesn't put a lot of heart behind it. "And they were at the park--"
"He used his motorcycle as a metaphor for his dick and tried to pick us up," Joan says. Tina barks out a laugh and George turns bright red.
Stephanie presses her lips into a thin line. "Joan," she chides.
Head ducked, George rubs the back of his neck and shuffles towards the kitchen. "I'm going to go get you some drinks, okay? We've got water, um, Diet Sprite, Coke, milk, and I think some flavored vodka mess--"
"Don't let Deja hear you say that," Tina warns him. Then, while they tell George what they want, she yells out, "Deja, we have company! I gotta move some of your stuff, baby!"
"I'll do it! Hang on a second!"
Joan and Stephi hover in front of the loveseat, the only piece of furniture without paper all over it. Tina gestures at them to sit down while she stands in front of an armchair.
"While we're trading meeting-George stories," she says, hands on her hips. "I was the first one of us to meet him. He was touring the school and his ass was supposedly 'lost'," she says, even doing finger-quotes around lost. "Despite the fact that Deja and I could see his fucking class ring."
"Are you talking about me?" George yells.
"Yes!" Tina shrugs, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor across from them. "See, I have this theory about him that he likes to pretend to be a total hard-ass, trying to pick up two girls at once, right? But actually he's a totally lesbro at heart and has forgotten how to maintain a relationship with any other kind of person. He's a goddamn puppy dog."
Joan looks down and laughs, shaking her head. "This motherf--"
"JOAN!" Stephanie exclaims, shooting up like a rocket and crossing her arms.
"Sorry," Joan says, flushing from the neck up. It's harder to edit herself around other people who don't turn green at language any stronger than 'drat.' "Stephanie hates it when people curse."
A person wanders into the room who Joan will swear up and down is a flesh-and-blood mold of Buzz Lightyear in his early twenties, with blond hair and a military-issue haircut. He's also wearing gray sweatpants and a navy t-shirt with U.S. NAVY stamped on it in white.
"I can't abide foul language," Stephanie explains with a polite smile, sitting down on the couch and crossing her ankles delicately.
Buzz Lightyear blinks and grins, his smile lighting up his bright blue eyes. "Well that is very sweet," he says.
Rocking back and tossing her head while she laughs, Tina slaps her knee. "Well aren't you just a fucking china doll!"
Stephanie blushes.
"Oh sorry, I mean ... a friggin'?" Tina says, holding her hands up. She winces as the tips of Stephanie's ears go red, but she's holding back laughter at the same time. "No? A. A china doll."
"Aw, stop teasing, Tina," Buzz says.
"Shut the... shut up," Tina giggles, beckoning him to sit down. He does, carefully taking a place on the floor in front of the end of a couch. "Deja will seriously be out in a minute though. At least before we have to eat dinner."
Buzz smiles at them, and Joan can just tell that Stephanie is melting a bit. "Hi," he says, waving. "You're George's guests, I'm guessing? My name's Jonah McClellan. I was George's roommate freshman year."
"Stephanie Stewart," Stephanie says. Joan feels her heart thump in her chest, and she's short of breath long enough that Stephi gestures to her. "This is my fiancée, Joan."
"Jonah's married to the navy," Tina stage-whispers.
"I am not," he says. "I mean, I'm on a track to get into it when I graduate -- I'm a mathematics major."
"He keeps changing," Tina says.
"Every one of my changes has come after long talks with my adviser," Jonah says.
"He's going to change again," George says, appearing behind them. Joan is kind of relieved to see him, and immediately steels herself to keep that off her face. "Pure mathematics is totally useless."
Jonah frowns. "It is not!"
"It doesn't mean anything without practical application," George says, absently waving his hand. He manages not to spill any of the drinks he's holding, and hands Stephanie a water and Joan a Diet Sprite. Joan never thought she would get nostalgic for being offered iced tea.
A tall girl in a short purple dress stumbles out into the hall and blinks three times, slowly.
Tina laughs. "You okay, sweetheart? You look a little…"
The tall girl shakes her head, dark curls bouncing everywhere. "Yeah, no, it's just… a little… the light's…"
She holds up her finger, asking for a moment.
"Hi, I'm Deja," she smiles, bouncing down next to Tina and leaning against her. "Sorry about that, I hadn't gotten up in a while and I was feeling a little… lightheaded." She grimaces. "Graduate work is a real bitch."
Stephanie winces violently.
"I mean it's really hard," Deja corrects, looking taken aback. "Does that… I mean I know it's a sexist pejorative but…"
"Stephanie doesn't like swearing at all," Jonah explains, smiling indulgently.
Deja's lips turn up. "That is adorable."
Tucking her hair behind her bright red ears, Stephanie slides slowly onto the carpet and beckons Joan to join her. "I feel so rude sitting up there while y'all don't have a place to sit."
"Y'all, that is too cute," Tina says. "George, you get your a - your butt down here, stop making us feel awkward standing up like that."
He sits between Stephanie and sprawls his legs out underneath the coffee table, carefully making sure he doesn't knock any books over. "So how is your paper g--" he starts.
Tina slaps a hand over his mouth before he finishes. "I made you a list of questions not to ask a grad student when you moved in with us, George."
"Sorry," he says, muffled.
"So who are we entertaining tonight?" Deja asks, squinting at them a bit.
Stephanie introduces them again (and Joan loses her breath again, for a moment). And Stephanie has always been good at small talk. "We just moved up here from South Carolina. We haven't even gotten an apartment, we've kind of just been excited to be in the city and start planning the wedding."
"How long have you two been planning all this?" George asks.
"Joan proposed Sunday night," she says.
George blinks. "Oh."
"We've been together for a long time," Stephanie murmurs.
Joan tries to think of how long, exactly, and can't. "We've known each other since kindergarten," she supplies.
Tina smiles and squeezes Deja's hand. "That's sweet."
"Joan really wanted to come to school here," Stephanie adds. "It's so far from home, but..."
Jonah clears his throat when her voice drifts off. "Boston is a great city. I think you'll enjoy it."
"We should totally take them out for their bachelorette parties," George says. "There are some great places you should really see."
A pale blond guy eases into the room, oven mitts over his hands, and Joan guesses that this is the cook. She thinks that maybe he looks a little like the Sheriff Woody to Jonah's Buzz. He's certainly got the height for it (although Deja might be taller).
"You're what my sister would call a cad, George."
George snorts. "Your sister likes me, Markus!"
"This is because I lie about you," Markus reasons, and George sputters. Markus looks at them and walks over, extending his hand. Stephanie beams and shakes his hand, and when it's Joan's turn she's surprised at how firm his shake is. "Hello. I am Markus Olsson."
A green head pokes out of his shirt pocket, and Stephanie jumps on the couch beside her. Joan snickers, especially when a frill rises up around the apparently-a-lizard's head.
"Wh - what is that?" Stephanie asks.
Markus looks down and lifts the definitely-a-lizard out of his pocket. He scratches its head and its frill lays down again, its tongue darting out. "This? This is Frodo."
Delicately, Markus takes one of the lizard's tiny green paws between his fingers and makes him wave. "Hello, girls," he says in a falsetto before clucking at the lizard and kissing him on the head.
Joan giggles.
"Don't laugh," Tina says, her dark eyes sparkling. "Frodo is a serious gentleman."
The lizard curls his tail up as Markus tucks him back into his pocket. "I will go get the food," he says. Jonah jumps up to help, and tells them all not to move. Between the two of them everybody has drinks and plates full of some kind of sausage thing in just a few trips.
When Joan is thinking that she's going to have to get the recipe for it, Deja clears her throat. "We do have a table, you know. With chairs."
"It's more fun to eat like this," George says, licking his fork. "Although next time you should make them so that you can eat them without losing your tongue."
"Is the horseradish too hot for you?" Markus asks. Joan can't not see the shape of Frodo in his pocket, now. The lizard seems pretty content to stay there, too.
George makes a face. "I'm drinking milk with dinner, Markus."
"You should be used to it by now," Tina says, sipping her glass. "Besides, don't you put spicy mustard on everything?"
"Not to the point I need a yogurt chaser," George says.
Markus shrugs. "This is the way my family makes it. I will hardly take food criticism from a man who puts mustard on his ice cream."
"Only vanilla!" George protests.
"That's pretty gross," Joan mutters, and not even Stephanie can bring herself to chastise her.
The rest of dinner is not nearly so aggressive, although Deja does get annoyed when Frodo decides it's time to run across the room towards Markus's door down the hallway. Markus shrugs and says he's going to his terrarium.
"I like this place," Stephanie whispers in her ear, squeezing Joan's fingers. "It feels like home, before everyone moved out."
Joan kisses her back (George whistles and Tina punches him), her breath pulsing in her chest.
She thinks it feels better than that. She thinks they fit, here, on the floor with everyone else, Stephanie's legs folded underneath her and Joan's sprawled out without actually knocking into anyone else's.
---
Stephanie sprawls out on the bed while Joan is in the shower. There's not much to sprawl out with, but she manages, damp hair shaken around her face and a magazine open in front of her, her elbows digging into the comforter to keep her chest lifted up. It's thick, enough that Joan keeps calling it a catalog, and she's looking at the bouquets.
She likes the brightly-colored ones that pepper the two-page spread after the pages and pages of identical white ones.
The ones with sunflowers look especially nice.
"Joan?" she calls. She can hear the pipes squeak as the water shuts off, and the shower curtain get yanked aside. Stephanie carefully dog-ears the top corner of the page. "What do you think of sunflowers?"
Grinning crookedly, Joan strides out of the bathroom, holding her towel around her torso. "Sure. I like sunflowers."
Dark hair falling into her eyes, Stephanie has a lot to look at besides how Joan's struggling to tuck her towel into place. She curls a lock around her finger and looks one more time at the bouquet before flipping over to accessories. Dresses seem too big to look at before they've even had breakfast.
She looks at the way the veils fall around shoulders, collarbones, breasts. She wonders if how long it is depends on the top on her dress, and if she'll have to choose the dress before she puts on a veil.
Joan sinks onto the bed next to her and drips on her shoulder while she leans over to examine the pages. "I like that one," she whispers, pointing.
Head tucked down, Stephanie smiles. "That's my favorite."
Pulling on the corner of Joan's towel, Stephanie turns her head and presses her mouth against Joan's. Joan inhales, a little, and eases down onto the mattress to pull Stephanie on top of her. Stephanie makes sure to fold the magazine closed and push it to the corner of the bed.
Joan wriggles the towel off her body and throws it into the corner to lie in a damp pile. Stephanie presses her lips to one of the droplets of water peppering Joan's skin and sucks, her teeth digging into the hollow between Joan's neck and shoulder. Her fingers tighten around Joan's hips, thumbs pressing hard into her skin.
Wrapping her arms around the small of Stephanie’s back, Joan presses her in closer, inhales her shampoo and sweet-smelling perfume. She catches her teeth on Stephanie's earlobe, and Stephanie giggles, her fingers brushing against the dark, coarse hairs between Joan's thighs.
"Excuse me, ma'am, you seem to be a bit overdressed," Joan mumbles, smiling sideways and reaching under Stephanie’s nightgown to unhook the front of her bra. "Let me help you with that."
Stephanie rolls her eyes, but she still shudders when Joan's hands skate over her breasts and yelps when one of Joan’s clipped fingernails scratches against her nipple.
"Quiet," Joan giggles, flipping Stephanie over to roll on top of her. "Hotel walls can be pretty thin. And you wouldn't want anyone to know exactly what we're doing in here," Joan drawls, hooking the waistband of Stephanie's panties.
"Of course not. I'm not an exhibitionist, Joan!" Stephanie huffs, kissing Joan again on the mouth. But her eyes widen and she wriggles further into the mattress, guiding Joan's hands to yank her underwear off.
Joan is pretty sure being married will be awesome.
---
"How many people do you want to invite?" Stephanie asks, chewing on the end of a pen.
Joan is on her computer, looking through apartment listings, because they can't stay in the hotel forever even if they do replace the shampoo and soap every day. She peers up over the monitor, reading glasses slipping down her nose.
"I dunno," she says, shrugging. "My mom and my brother."
"That's it?" Stephanie asks skeptically, glancing down at her list. "No-one from school or anything?"
Joan shrugs. "I didn't exactly have a lot of friends there."
Besides, she doesn't think anyone from school is likely to show up. But she isn't going to tell Stephanie that.
Stephanie taps her pen against the pad of hotel paper she's balancing on her knees. Her hair is still wet from the shower, Joan's already dried off, and it's left big damp spots on the shoulders of the oversized t-shirt she stole from Joan's duffel bag. In between clicking links on Google and comparing neighborhood names to maybe outdated maps of Boston, she's been watching the way Stephanie wriggles her toes as she writes.
"I've got Marge, from the squad, and then Linda, and I thought you would want Hunter to come, since he was on the soccer team with you. And I really want George to come."
The only picture Joan can get in her head after that is Stephanie in her wedding dress on the back of George's motorcycle. "Okay," she says, shrugging. Stephanie grins.
"I think we should invite the rest of his roommates, too," she goes on, sketching out their names. Joan is impressed that she got everyone's last name memorized. "They all seemed so nice and it would be great to have more people there. And you liked Tina, right?"
Joan grins without thinking about it. "She was cool."
Stephanie takes a breath, "Okay. And then there's all my siblings and my parents but they're going to take up a lot of room, especially if they bring their kids with them and do you think it would be rude to say we don't want kids at the wedding? Only I wanted one of my nieces to be the flower girl, and your brother is too old to be the ring boy, and are you sure there's no one else for your side because it's going to look a bit unbalanced."
Joan's glasses slide off her nose.
"Um," she says. "Are you sure - are you sure that..."
"What?"
Joan feels like she's swallowed honey. She chews on her lip. "I don't think we can count on all those people to come," she says, as gently as she can.
Stephanie smiles, breezing by Joan's concerns. "Oh, well, on such short notice, obviously not. Do you think it would help if we postponed..."
Picking up her glasses, Joan stares at the rims, twirls them around between her fingers. "I don't," she starts. She can hear Stephanie shift on the bed, but she doesn't look up. A breath rushes out of her, and she mumbles, "I don't think so, Stephi."
Stephanie's bright smiles fades in confusion. "Well, okay then," she says. Joan glances up to see her scratching at the edge of her paper with her pen, and freezes when Stephanie catches her eye. "I know Marge and you didn't get along, and she might not come, but... she was nice to me, and I'd still like to extend a hand."
It rushes out faster than it had even come up in her mind. "I just," Joan says, reaching out to lay her hand over Stephanie's ankle, "I just don't want you to be too disappointed if your parents don't come."
Stephanie laughs, but she pulls her ankle away. "Well, of course they're going to be there! They're my parents!"
Joan tries not to look at the blue ring at the corner of Stephanie's eye. "I'm not sure we should get our hopes up," she says.
"They'll come," Stephanie insists, waving dismissively. Some of her damp hair falls over her eyes and she bats it away, dropping her pen in her lap. "My mom always talked about my wedding. And my dad's walked all my sisters down the aisle. He wouldn't want me walking by myself."
Sighing, Joan folds up her laptop and reaches for Stephanie's hand. "Let's just go do something, okay?"
Fingers laced together, Stephanie's eyes light up. "We never did get to the swan boats."
---
The boat rocks a little bit when Stephanie steps inside, her heel clicking against the wooden bottom. Joan lets go of her hand once she's got her balance back, and she scoots along the bench until she's at the edge. There's enough people on their row that Joan wraps an arm around Stephanie's waist to get closer.
They set off with a small splash.
Stephanie's hand skims through the water. Her other hand rests on Joan's knee, and she leans her head against Joan's shoulder.
That's how they look in the photo. Joan passed the camera to the person in front of them, and the zoom is just enough to crop out the little kid next to Joan who kept trying to wriggle over their knees and get to the water.
Stephanie wants to buy a frame as soon as she sees it on the camera's screen.
---
Stephanie brought the wedding magazine with them, and drops it down on the table while Joan bustles up to the counter to get them lunch. The pages have been heavy in her purse all day, and she kept rearranging the strap, but now that it's open on the table in front of her she doesn't regret bringing it. The cover arrangement, the model, the articles, are like the ones her mother picked out for the last of her sisters who got married.
Joan is leaning against the counter, watching her, and she waves instead of bringing her compact out to check the makeup around her eye. At least people look at the magazine, not her face, when they walk by.
On the floor between her feet, her purse buzzes. She wonders why Mrs. L would text her and not Joan, until she has the phone in her hand and sees the message isn't from Mrs. L at all.
With an almost clinical detachment, Stephanie watches it blink stark green against the black background.
[MOM] "where r u, stephanie?"
Lunch tray in hand, Joan freezes, blue eyes widening as she studies Stephanie's face. "Stephi? Is something wrong?"
If she Google-mapped it, Stephanie would know she was in a sandwich shop in the middle of a block exactly 2.5 miles from their hotel. A forty-five minute walk, fifteen minutes by bus, twenty-five by car at this time of day.
She looks at Joan, wondering how she missed her walking up to the table. "It's from my mom," she says, the lunch tray set in front of her. Joan stops with one hand on her chair, only half-easing down into it. Stephanie's heart has hardly sped up. The green characters seem a long way away. "She wants to know where we are."
Joan swears under her breath, pushing her hand through her hair. "Well. What are you gonna tell her?"
Stephanie licks her lip and ghosts her thumb over the keys on her phone. "Um, I need to tell her about the wedding, I guess. I know we haven't settled on a date or sent out invitations yet, but..."
Joan slams her straw down on the table to break open the paper. She stares while she peels it apart. Stephanie holds her thumb above the keys until Joan glances up. "...Maybe you should wait until we're done eating," she finally says.
A genuine, brilliant Stephanie smile washes over her face, and she reaches out to take Joan's hand. "Good idea," she whispers, and Joan squeezes her fingers.
She tucks the magazine and the phone back into her purse, and opens up the wrapping on the panini Joan brought her. Maybe her mom will have some ideas on what kind of food they should order for the reception.
"I'm excited," she says, stabbing into her salad with a plastic fork. "My mom did a really good job helping to plan my sisters' weddings."
Joan's smile slips, and Stephanie's eyes widen. "Not that you and your mom can't help out, too, if you want! I wouldn't want to exclude you."
"Stephanie, if your mom wants to help, you two can be in charge of as much as you want," Joan promises.
Stephanie's face lights up. "See, I knew you'd understand!"
When Stephanie leans across the table and presses her lips against Joan’s, Joan can feel Stephanie’s lip gloss smear across her mouth. She dots another quick kiss to Joan’s cheek, but Joan doesn’t have the heart to wipe the gloss away.
Instead, she swallows a green pepper and glances at her watch. "We still have a lot of daylight left. Is there anything else you wanted to do today?"
Stephanie mulls it over. "No," she says. "I think maybe we should make a list of what we really want in an apartment, so we can start seriously looking. And I want to get back to my mom about the wedding and everything."
One side of Joan's mouth curls higher than the other. "Okay."
Between Stephanie's feet, her purse buzzes again, but it's too loud in the shop now for her to notice.
Part Two