Chapter Text
It’s all a lark
~
They meet at the company Christmas party of a company neither of them work at.
She’s there with her boyfriend and her ostensibly to do a catering job even if got the gig through her girlfriend— is really just there for Shae.
It’s a cold night and for some godforsaken reason the party is outside. Everyone shivering and crowding together to conserve heat; pretending they aren’t all sick of each other after another boring nine-to-five year in medical sales.
Months from now will be thankful for the cold though because when she finally gets to the point to ask herself, really ask herself if she could, might possibly be— just the teensiest bit— will remember the way Nicole’s disarming confidence their first meeting made her heart race, cheeks flush.
Warmed her more than a hot toddy ever could.
For now though is in the garden of a bar she didn’t know had a garden, even if reckons can only be called that by Purgatory standards because: is a parking lot.
All of them shivering in a parking lot where no amount of faerie lights can hide the concrete.
Champ on his third drink too many and doing what he always does when he drinks too much: complaining about her.
Are just jokes, he’d say, is just joking and where is her sense of humor?
And might just be gone and might be that jokes shouldn’t be this mean and might very well be both these things but is prepared to say neither so just excuses herself to ‘the bathroom’ while he rants about her cooking... again—
‘She’s one of them vegans, you know?’
—narrowly stops herself from ramming straight into her, standing by the side door smoking.
And must look up far more judgmentally than she intends because the first words out the woman's mouth are: “I know! I know! I swear I quit, just cave sometimes when it’s stressful and y’all?”
She laughs and well, isn’t prepared for the sound of her laugh.
“Y’all are stressful,” she says as her lips curve into a smile that must be contagious cause Waverly’s do too.
Her caught so off guard as to sputter, “Oh, I’m not… I don’t work here.”
“No?”
“No.”
Breathes a sigh of relief then leaning back against the brick behind them. “Well thank god for that.”
And wants to say it’s not that bad but is indeed, that bad.
Instead offers as solace, “Food is pretty good at least.”
“I certainly like to think so.”
“Oh yea?” she asks, taken aback by something so direct and confident and—
“I did make it.”
“Right,” Waverly nods, pretending to have known this when she only recognizes then that the redhead is wearing a half apron. Black to match her slacks and the dark metallic of her bodysuit; short hair pinned back and locked in place with the help of a sweeping fishtail braid. “Of course you did.”
Represses a laugh at the sight of the wheels turning so clumsily in Waverly’s head, alight when she says, “So clearly we know why I am here but you? Dragged along by a friend were you?”
“Something like that,” she notes, intentionally vague because the last thing she wants to do right now is talk about Champ who she’s dated for years for reasons that increasingly feel foreign to her.
After all, isn’t seventeen anymore and hiding behind the life of the party as an act of preservation has lost its luster, assuming there was any to begin with.
“Could I bum one of those?”
“Oh take one,” she says. “Or do us both a favor and take the pack, whatever you want.”
Settles for a single cigarette which she hoists awkwardly between two fingers and before she can even ask there’s Nicole leaning in to offer her a light. Inhales the nicotine but her too and smells sweet— she thinks— like vanilla sugar.
“Dragged here and having a miserable time, I see,” Nicole posits eventually, forcing her out her own head.
“I’m… I’m not… why do you think that?”
Points to the cigarette flopping between Waverly’s fingers, “Not exactly a natural.”
“Right, well it’s stressful. They’re stressful. The holidays, I mean.”
“Can say that again,” she says leaning back in and vanilla again— whispers, “Think this is the part where you tell me your name.”
Her name which comes out unsure even if it’s been the same over twenty-three years now, “Waverly.”
“Well, can say that again, Waverly.”
Says her name like it's a lyric in her favorite song, so natural and rhythmic, light and joyful.
She blushes, “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“How do you know?”
Flicks ash to the ground.
“Cause I’m from around here.”
“And what, you would have remembered me?”
“You could say,” she shrugs and Nicole smiles, again.
Clarifies, “I’m from out east, moved here a few months ago.”
“And uh, out east is that where you’re going for the holidays?”
She shakes her head, “No one to spend them with there. You?”
“My sister was supposed to come home but she canceled. Third year in a row.”
“And you like this sister?”
“I love this sister, it’s all just. A bit of a mess.”
“As in she is or it is?”
Bites her lip, says, “Yes.”
“And here I thought Christmas was only rough on me,” Nicole shrugs, putting the cigarette out against the brick and tucking the butt into a ziplock housed in the pocket of her apron for later discard. A small gesture that says a lot, Waverly thinks.
Says, “Oh not by a long shot,” then leans in—and smells efflorescent, Nicole thinks, like her favorite flowers. “I think this is the part where you tell me your name.”
And is her turn to blush, which she does, cheeks burning just the brightest pink hue. “Nicole,” she outstretches her hand. “Nicole Haught.”
Their palms touch and hearts rush and Waverly blushes too, everything in tandem and all at once, till Nicole looks at her like she’s the first person to ever look at her, ever see her, and they both smile at the feeling of something there aren’t yet words to describe.
“Well, grateful for the company, Nicole.”
“Oh hard same, Waverly,” she assures, gesturing her head toward the door. “Can I make you a coffee? Cappuccino maybe? Excuse to get out the cold a minute if nothing else.”
“Don’t suppose you have any almond milk?”
“Alas, a pretty pure dairy crowd here tonight.”
And rightly or wrongly, takes that as her cue, putting out her own cigarette and then clutching it awkwardly, no bin in sight, “Suppose I’ve hidden away long enough anyway. Should probably get back.”
Nicole opens the pocket of her apron and the ziplock to boot then downcasts her eyes. Waverly hesitating until her nod gets increasingly frantic and it’s drop it in or watch Nicole’s head vibrate clear off her body.
“Well, thanks, Nicole.”
“You’re welcome, Waverly.”
The song again which wonders both how she’s gone twenty-three years never having heard and if she can stand never hearing again. Nevertheless turns to leave till Nicole calls—
“Rain check?”
And she snaps around, eyebrows practically clear off her head when she exclaims, “Yea!”
A bit too excitedly even for her, which she’ll think about long after her and Champ have supposedly gone to sleep tonight. Him snoring like a freight train while she lays awake and stares at the ceiling and thinks about how her lack of cool will prevent the caterer from out east ever wanting to speak to her again and how much that’ll suck because could use new friends, especially ones with bright smiles, and brighter hair, smell the nostalgic sweet of childhood— like coming home.
“Best believe I’ll hold you to that now,” Nicole says, typing her number into her phone.
And indeed texts first thing in the morning, right as Waverly pours her first of several cups of coffee to make up barely having slept at all.
//
They meet up on December 23rd at a vegan cafe in the city. Waverly’s idea, hoping to show Nicole some jewels of the Ghost River Triangle— jewels that try as you might, don’t quite find many of in Purgatory.
Leads her to her first question when they’ve settled into a booth in the corner to drink their cappuccinos and await a stack of pancakes and a tofu scramble she can only describe as ‘bananas’—“Why?”
Almost spits her coffee, the laugh comes out so hard, “Why?!”
“Just Purgatory?”
“Right,” Nicole nods, wide-eyed, her well aware the town she’s decided to settle into.
“It’s just not so much a place people come to. More the type of place people never leave. I mean.” Waverly whispers, “It’s in the name.”
“Oh and it certainly is— quite the name.”
“Is that it? Saw it on a map and thought there’s a lark?”
“Lark?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she shrugs.
“Maybe I just like it.”
“Right but how do you even know it to like? There are folks come from the big city, sure, move for more space, a better view but surprised we’re even on the radar of someone from so far away.”
“You sure ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
“I— sorry.”
“No, I like it,” Nicole says. “You’d make a good detective.”
“You think?”
“Yea and I’d know, parents are both detectives.”
“What’s that like?”
She shrugs, “Hard to tell with Marge and Hank what’s the job and what’s just Marge and Hank.”
“Take it you weren’t dreaming about being a cop when you grew up then?”
“God no. Can you imagine?”
“Oh my dad was one and no, most definitely cannot,” Waverly says and Nicole looks at her, lips tugging toward smile, like she sees something in her— some invisible common thread tying them together.
And isn’t sure what to do with that so turns her attention down to the table, to the cutlery, to the little bottle of green hot sauce, to nothing in particular then says to no one in particular, “Deputy. Deputy Ward Earp.”
“Never made sheriff?”
“Died before he got the chance but don’t think he would have made the cut, no.”
Nicole reaches her hand across the table, futzes with the bottle of hot sauce until Waverly is forced to focus on that, then leans her head in low till their eyes meet. “So, to the question at hand.”
“The question at hand?” Waverly repeats, and is smiling now.
The two of them both smiling now.
“Why?!” Nicole mimics.
Waverly gesturing for her to continue as smile rounds ever so quickly into laugh.
“My aunt and uncle used to live in Purgatory, had a house out on Hogback Road,” she explains. “Parents never knew much of what to do with me but they did and in the summer? Got to just be us. Always lived for that. The garden and the lake. Library that never seemed to have much of anything and yet, exactly what I always wanted.”
“Mrs. Nussbaum always did know what to get, practically a curator.”
“Mrs. Nussbaum?… with the red wire rim glasses and the…”
“Bob a bit too sophisticated for a town that still doesn’t have a vegetarian restaurant?”
Nicole gazes nostalgically into her coffee cup, “My first crush.”
“Oh you definitely aren’t alone there.” Waverly jokes, “Seriously, if you ever run into a lull talking to someone in town, bring her up. She’ll get you at least two minutes.”
“Was she yours?”
“My—” her brow raises and cheeks go pink and, “What? No. I don… no.”
So frazzled because for the first time thinks that yea, maybe, could have been.
“Okay.”
Waverly bites her lip and shakes her head awkwardly, trying to return to the conversation when her brain is anywhere but here in this booth, in this restaurant, in this city. Closes her eyes to try and find center, “Take it they aren’t still in Purgatory then?”
“Moved out east by the time I was done with junior high when it was clear— well, we’ll just say, moved out east for me.”
And might be there is indeed some invisible string between them because the only thing that Waverly can think to say then is, “I was raised by my aunt and uncle too.”
Nicole meeting her gaze with such tenderness and understanding at that that she has to swallow, hard.
“Sometimes it’s the only way,” she says.
Waverly nods.
“My uncle died a few years ago and my aunt last winter. Came in spring to spread their ashes and couldn’t bring myself to do that and couldn’t bring myself to leave either.”
“Certainly brave.”
“Brave. Stupid. Something.” Nicole snickers, “Certainly something.”
“I mean I’ve never left the province,” Waverly says. “County even. So to try and set down roots somewhere? Anywhere new? Even for just a little while? Yea, I’d say that’s brave.”
Her eyes go wide, “You’ve really never left the county?”
“Oh certainly not something I’d brag about so probably alright to assume it’s the truth.”
“Not even just a foot over the boundary line?”
Notices Waverly start to turn in on herself then and isn’t trying to sound judgmental even if is clearly surprised, so adds, “For a lark?”
“Not even a lark, no,” she chuckles. Then says in earnest something more honest and intimate than she’s said to anyone in years, “If I left I’m not sure I’d come back and it’s my home. Don’t know who I’d be without it.”
“A lot to put on a place.”
“Yea well, sometimes a place is all you have.”
Doesn’t ask what she means by that but is clear she does mean something by that.
The pancakes arrive. Then the scramble and it is—
“Ba-na-nas,” Nicole says, her mouth full.
Waverly agreeing enthusiastically, “I know. What is that?”
She shrugs, “When in doubt, za’atar?”
“Is that your motto?”
“It’s not not my motto,” Nicole says and they both laugh even if the joke isn’t funny. Loud enough it practically reverberates through the restaurant.
Loud enough they all but feel its echo.
Waverly blushes, “Happy to have my suspicions confirmed by a chef, at any rate.”
“Chef? Now that might be a bit rich but haven’t poisoned anyone, yet, no.”
Waverly just looks at her, repeats, “Chef.”
Nicole rolls her eyes and shakes her head, “Gotta say I am pleasantly surprised. Stranger suggests you meet for breakfast outta town? Could go any number of ways.”
“So why’d you come?”
She shrugs, “Been here over six months, only really know Shae. Figured, I don’t know, more friends, more queer friends, could be nice.”
“Yea, more—I’m sorry, queer?”
Nicole’s face falls.
“I— uh, thought… am I speaking out of turn?”
And doesn’t quite know so just says, “I am dating Champ.”
“Yea, boy-man, rodeo champ, Champ, I know,” she nods. “Hence… queer, I thought.”
“I don’t.”
Is not a complete thought that but Nicole just nods again, says. “Okay. That’s okay.”
“I just,” Waverly stammers, “You think I'm gay?”
And doesn’t mean to but her voice gets progressively softer, like she’s saying the one word can’t be said, one word she hasn’t ever let herself say.
“I thought,” Nicole starts and can no longer concretely say what she thought or why. “Well, I am not under the impression there’s something wrong with what I thought.”
“There’s not.” Waverly assures, even if her face is red and getting redder at everything coming out of her mouth, wrong and getting progressively wronger. “Really, there’s not. I just don’t. I don’t think. I don’t think I am gay.”
“You don’t think?” Nicole repeats and shouldn’t, she knows but there it goes anyway.
“Yea, I don’t think,” she stumbles over the words, “I mean I am not…”
Nicole isn’t sure if she means ‘not gay’ or ‘not sure’ then is starting to suspect that Waverly isn’t either.
Tries to put on her best smile for her, younger and confused in the booth of a vegan restaurant; because can remember herself being younger and confused, albeit never in a vegan restaurant.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she says to Waverly whose eyes are shut tight and getting tighter— embarrassed at a response out of sorts with well, the totality of her.
Response she doesn’t even have the words to describe.
“I know. I hope you know I am not. Sorry. I just.” Waverly whispers, “I guess I am confused.”
And isn’t the first time she’s thought that, but is the first time she’s said it out loud.
“I just meant I think you’re cool is all,” Nicole offers.
And Waverly clarifies— “Not confused by that”— even if Nicole knows and she knows that Nicole knows and is just being polite.
Nicole who reaches a hand across the table to squeeze hers.
Nicole who says softly, “Well, if you don’t ask the question, you’ll never know, will you? And what would Mrs. Nussbaum think about that?”
She laughs.
“Whoever you are, whatever you are, Waverly Earp, more than happy to have you as a friend.”
Her eyes open and start to warm again to Nicole who’s looking at her, like there’s no wrong in her, only right.
Nicole who jokes, “Besides, it’s all a lark.”
And.
“It’s all a lark,” she agrees.
Even if the second she gets into her car will let her head fall face first into the steering wheel and will sit there for twenty minutes unable to put the car in gear and roll down the road home.
And.
“It’s all a lark,” she repeats.
Even though when Nicole texts that night to tell her thank you for showing her around, for the pancakes and the company, she’ll stare at the message longer than it’d take to respond and not respond anyway.
Because might all be a lark but if it wasn’t for Nicole wouldn’t be confronted with the question she’s long avoided and learned a long time ago not to ask her questions out loud— so she won’t.
For months, she won’t.
And in the morning will wake up determined to get through the holiday with her signature smile and wave; and when Wynonna texts from half a world away will pretend she doesn’t care sister’s still not there; and when Champ has his third drink too many, will pretend his jokes are funny; and when her aunt and uncle ask how she is, will use words like ‘good’ and ‘fine’ instead of sentences like— ‘on the precipice of something and waiting for the rock to finally give way.’
Which it will, in the summer when her uncle dies and she realizes the only thing he ever asked her to be was brave— so she will.
And one morning will finally face herself and use words like ‘bisexual’ and ‘queer’ and sentences like ‘at home in this world.’
And will remember then the friend she could have had. The one with the bright hair and the brighter smile, smell the nostalgic sweet of childhood and she’ll think about texting but still won’t be brave enough for that.
So instead will stick a post-it note on her mirror says ‘it’s all a lark’ and in spite of this will carry on.