Chapter Text
The last week of January Katya sits at the kitchen table and shuffles her savings around the pockmarked wood. She figures she has enough to up and leave whenever she wants, find a cheap motel and keep both of them afloat while she works another job and Trixie goes to school. When the bills slip through her dry fingers during the wee hours of the morning, she counts enough to get them to Nashville. It’s not far enough away, but it’s a start. And she’s seen numerous college applications on her table suggesting as much, hinting at the two hour displacement in time and space as being the cure for broken windows.
Katya lies awake at night with her hands tucked behind her head and thinks hard about what she’s going to give up for Trixie. There’s no doubt in her mind that she would do it, and there’s very little remorse or resentment. She’s old enough to know she isn’t happy where she is, that if she doesn’t make a change soon her roots will spread too far and she won’t be able to leave at all.
The move is for herself almost as much as it’s for Trixie. She lets herself admit it, with Trixie’s head on her chest and thigh over her hips. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to make her life better, but such a big change requires more thought than she’s ever given anything, and it scares her. Katya wonders if she’s worth it, if maybe she’s a lost cause, a woman in a long line of women who have sacrificed their destinies to martyrdom. Two hours is an entire culture away, a promise of something so potentially good it makes her want to run in the opposite direction, if only Trixie weren’t holding her close and pushing forward.
Trixie fills out her applications dutifully, once a week. She’s applied to almost every university in the neighboring states, desperate enough to go anywhere that will take her away from the placenta of a city she once was nourished by. Angry and blindsided, Trixie searches for her own path, goes through ink cartridge after ink cartridge in desperation to mark it on the map.
She tacks her rejection letters to the living room wall, a line above the fireplace mantle that stretches from corner to corner. She sits on the couch and stares at them, meditates on them, and then she gets up and plants herself at the kitchen table and wears out another cartridge. Katya’s never seen such dedication in all her years of farmwork.
Katya isn’t worried- she knows Trixie will get into a university, knows she’s smart enough and convincing enough and, yes, pretty enough, to push her way in and find her window of opportunity. Her dedication and excitement thrill Katya, and she whispers into her stomach, between her thighs, into her armpits, how she knows Trixie will succeed, how she’s such a hard worker, diligent and wise. She imparts encouragement between her teeth and presses good energy inside of her, fingertip after fingertip. Trixie hasn’t failed her yet.
Katya creeps to the kitchen to call Pearl on February Sundays.
In the cold, dark morning, she speaks to her in hushed tones, careful to not wake up Trixie. It reminds Katya of the phone call she got from Pearl not too long ago, and she fights the urge to shiver and scream every time. It’s still such a sensitive subject; she keeps it to herself and thinks about it when she can’t sleep.
Their conversations are slow things, filled with whatever is on their minds in the moment. Pearl talks about her recent obsession with canning and how her indoor garden is holding up; Katya talks about how Trixie hasn’t done anything but sleep and knit for a month straight.
Canning takes a back seat when Katya brings this up. Over a steaming mug of coffee, Katya pours herself into the receiver, her breath condensing on the plastic near her mouth. She’s terrified, and she can hear it in the jumpiness of her low morning voice. The coffee warms her up but it’s never enough to steady her tone.
Katya stands and stares out the window when they talk, the phone cord dragged across the floor and pooling a little at her socked feet. She digs a big toe into the wood and leans against the sink, watches the sun inch up the sky with Pearl, who Katya knows is doing the same thing from her couch.
Neither of them know why they do this. It feels just as natural as anything, being yards away and able to comment on the same screech owl, the same truck flying down the dirt road at an impossible speed. But there’s no imperative reason, no promise made to share their lives with each other. Their friendship has always been a loquacious one, thanks to Pearl and her endless source of gossip enabling Katya’s vice for talking shit, and to relegate this to a morning phone call seems unnecessary.
Unlike most conversations between the two, Katya does most of the talking. When they’re out of mundane conversations and snarky comments about Big Rock and the world at large, Pearl refills her mug in silence and Katya spills what she has tried desperately to keep to herself.
It’s almost always about Trixie; how she’s doing, what she’s eating, how many times she’s cried in the past twenty-four hours, how much Katya has absolutely no idea what to do for or about her. Those moments, when Katya’s eyes unfocus and burn with the dry winter air, when she tries so hard to find a scrap of inspiration inside herself to do more than kiss her to sleep, are the hardest of her adult life.
“I just don’t know how to help her,” Katya says. She rubs her eyes with her free hand. “I don’t feel like anything I say matters; I’ve tried everything I can think of.”
“Does she ever bring it up herself? How she’s sad?” Pearl sounds clinical, as Katya expects and wants from her.
“No.” Katya sips her coffee. “She doesn’t talk about much of anything. Johnny Cash Show- we watch that together. She likes the music on there.” She smiles. “Last night, Mama Cass was on and Trixie laughed-”
Katya stops herself, suddenly aware that she’s proud of her girlfriend for laughing, and the reality of their situation sinks into her skin more.
“You’re going to have to drag it out of her. She needs to process what happened, she needs to make a plan to move forward.”
Pearl is right, as usual. Katya sighs.
“I know. I don’t want to be mean, though. She needs to tell me how to fix it; I’m going crazy.”
“Why do you feel like you have to carry the weight?” Pearl’s voice is light, but Katya can sense her budding frustration. She knows Peal would sooner place it on Trixie than Katya, even though she’s just as privy to the situation as either of them.
Katya sighs again, uglier this time, and rests on a hip. She groans.
“Because I love her. And I feel like I did this to her, in a way...I feel responsible for Violet, for what she did, for being seen with Trixie. I know I’m not wrong for who I am, but no one else knows it, and when she’s seen with me it only serves to hurt her. And she can’t take care of herself like I can-”
“Katya.”
Katya’s breath catches in her throat at the sound of Trixie’s voice behind her.
“I’m going,” Pearl says. “Tell her the truth.”
The dial tone sounds in Katya’s ear. She holds the phone to her face, wishing her hair wasn’t in a braid, and blinks until her eyes are watering.
“Katya,” Trixie says louder. Her voice is rumbly, much lower than normal, and Katya realizes she hasn’t heard her say her name in what feels like weeks. “What are you talking about?”
Katya casts her eyes to the floor and slowly spins to face her. She’s leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed beneath her breasts in her cotton nightgown. Katya can see the goosebumps on her forearms and wonders how long she had been listening before she got out of bed.
“I just wanted to ask Pearl…” Katya shrugs, hands hanging limp. She doesn’t meet Trixie’s eyes, keeps her gaze at her collar bones. “I don’t know how to help you,” she whispers.
Trixie shuffles and stands upright. Her arms pull themselves tighter and her neck all but disappears in her attempt to shrink into herself.
“Who says I need help?”
“Nobody, because nobody sees you but me and I’m too damn scared to say anything,” Katya’s voice rises a little. “But you do. You need help.”
Katya walks the short way to the phone receiver, right beside Trixie’s face, and hangs up the phone. She can feel Trixie’s breath on her shoulder. The sun hits her face and Katya looks at her, observes the golden hairs in her brows and above her lips. The wrinkle between her brows is a permanent fixture now.
“Well, Dr. Zamolodchikova,” Trixie says her name easily, as fluently as her grandparents ever did. “Tell me what I should do.”
“Baby, if I knew, don’t you think I’d have already told you by now? I have no idea what you should do. Talk to me?” Katya throws up a hand. “Let me in, just a little. I don’t know how you’re feeling anymore-”
“Oh, you wanna know how I feel?” Trixie pushes her hair behind an ear and bristles. Her nostrils are flaring and Katya can see the tantrum coming. “Would you like to know how I feel?”
Katya nods and presses against the wall beside her. “I would.”
“Katya, I feel like nothing at all.” She says. “I don’t have a family; I don’t have a place in the society I grew up cherished within. I have nothing at all but the two suitcases I brought with me to your house and you. And what am I going to do with that? Who’s going to see that and say, ‘Oh, wow, Miss Trixie, you’re doing such a good job!’? No one sees me as me, anymore, Katya.”
Katya sniffs as she listens to Trixie catch her breath. Her eyes slide up her tawny nightgown and she easily flits past her hard nipples and swelling chest to find her eyes filling with tears.
She looks at her, really looks at her, and sees a spark in the hollows of her eyes.
“Now you know how I’ve felt since I was your age,” Katya whispers. “It’s tough. Your problem is that you care what they think, when they don’t think about you at all except to make themselves feel better.”
Trixie pulls back and stands up straight. She can’t hide her shiver, and Katya’s eyes close for a moment at the sight. She presses a hand against the wall.
“I’m not trying to be mean, Trixie. They don’t care about you. You can’t get caught up on that. We don’t have to stay here, we can leave, but no matter where we go, you will always be haunted by these feelings. Learn to stop caring about what they think. I miss seeing you happy.”
“I miss having a family,” Trixie sneers.
“I’m your family now,” Katya raises her voice to match Trixie’s. “I’m all you have.”
Trixie looks indignant. She works her jaw and Katya know she’s seconds away from hearing Trixie mouth off, say something she’ll regret, or else burst into tears and lock her out of the bedroom for the day. Katya is exhausted, from her head to her toes, and it’s barely seven in the morning. Her head hurts between her eyes.
“Now, I love you. More than I could ever say.” Katya reaches out with a tentative hand and Trixie lets her touch her shoulder. “I’m going to take care of you, but you have to let me.”
Trixie shuffles on her feet and looks away. Katya knows what she’s thinking, that Katya couldn’t possibly understand what she’s going through, but Trixie finally said something more than a dismissive comment about her feelings and Katya is going to run with it.
“Think about it, okay? I know what I’m talking about.”
Katya moves in closer and presses a kiss to Trixie’s face.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Trixie whispers back. She’s staring out the window still, blinking slowly. “I really haven’t done anything lately, have I?”
She sighs and drops her stiff pose. Katya wraps an arm around her waist and walks her to the couch, where she sits and pulls Trixie on her lap. Her thighs spill over Katya’s and keep her warm as she holds Trixie to her chest.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to live here, anymore,” Trixie says. “It’s like I have no place at all.”
“Then let’s leave,” Katya offers. Trixie huffs a laugh and shakes her head. “Why not? What have we got to lose? Who’s going to tell us no?”
“I need to get accepted into a college first. It’s been two whole months.”
“You’re well on your way. As soon as it happens, we’re leaving. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Trixie sits up with a small smile on her face. She kisses Katya and runs a hand through her hair as she thinks.
“You’d leave all of this for me?”
Silence settles between them as Katya regards the house that’s been in her family’s possession for three generations. She thinks about the wood walls and supports her grandfather constructed himself, the barn half of the town helped raise sixty years ago. Katya thinks about all the horses that have been broken on the farm, and the worn out trail between hers and Pearl’s houses, and smiles.
“In a heartbeat.”
The last freeze of the winter strikes Big Rock without warning. It comes on over the course of a weekend, and the promising rain of spring turns icy and coats the roads so barely anyone can venture out into town.
Out in the country, roads go unsalted. After the pavement, the dirt leads nowhere but to hunting grounds or ghost towns, and therefore remain forgotten more often than not. Big Rock turns into a bubble of civilization during freezes; anyone outside a ten-mile radius learns to fend for themselves or stay with family further in town.
The ice is crusted over a good half inch by Friday night. Katya, wrapped up in two of Trixie’s oversized sweaters and three pairs of wool socks, stands outside and chain smokes, watching the sleet pelt against the hood of her truck. The furious wind that came before the ice blew the bright blue tarp right off it. She had watched it from the bedroom window as it tumbled across the field and got caught in the treeline.
She’s outside because Trixie’s moping hasn’t stopped in almost a month, and the thought of being stuck inside with her for more than a day is enough to make her want to tear her hair out. Smoking outside, where she can barely feel her extremities and her lips immediately chap, seems infinitely better than hearing Trixie’s sniffles and sighs from her bath. The spray of ice hitting ice works like white noise in Katya’s ears, and she finds herself leaning against the house and relaxing despite the cold.
There has been a mysterious rift between the pair since Violet told Trixie’s parents about their relationship. It manifests periodically in short conversations over dinner, impersonal, middle-of-the-night sex, and nights meant for drinking and cuddling that end in half-drunk bottles of wine and Katya sleeping on the couch. Laid out in the dark, she breathes in Trixie’s scent on the cushions and wonders what she did, what she can do. Trixie will turn herself into Katya’s touch and then turn away almost as quickly, and Katya has an idea as to why.
Katya has never allowed anyone the satisfaction of making her feel horrible about her sexuality. Not a week goes by that she doesn’t feel disregarded because of it, but all the same, she squares her shoulders carries their imposed burden on her shoulders like a cross. Her back stoops with the weight of forgetfulness; she sees Trixie following in her steps, but with a worse gait.
Katya flicks her cigarette into the sleet and watches the orange burn out as it falls to the ground. Her toes are numb underneath all the wool; the thought of going back inside so soon makes her heart ache, so she pulls the pack from the back pocket of her jeans and lights up another.
Through days and nights filled with attempts to cheer Trixie up, Katya has found herself at her wits end, unable to think of anything that could speed up the process of Trixie coming to terms with her new life. So she has resigned herself to standing by, watching for signs that indicate Trixie will need her shoulder to cry on or her words to make her laugh. And even though Katya is able to separate the feelings of others from her own, she can’t keep herself from absorbing Trixie’s depression, her pain that manifests in bursts of anger and tears and strikes Katya with anxiety so fierce it rivals the attacks she had when she was younger.
Her cigarettes ease the aches. Katya smokes until her throat hurts, and then she breathes the icy air deep into her lungs and coughs up smoker’s phlegm before heading back inside.
Side B of the Beatles’ Hey Jude is playing on repeat at the turntable. Katya locks the door as the arm lifts and automatically goes back to the top, and McCartney’s voice serenades her as she pads to the bathroom and rests against the doorway.
The heat of the fireplace reaches the bathroom, and combined with the hot water from Trixie’s bath, Katya feels like she’s in a sauna. Her fingers and toes and cheeks burn with the air, and she wiggles them to speed up the thawing process.
She watches Trixie, submerged to the chin with the the tops of her knees poking out of the water. Her eyes are closed but she raises a hand in greeting to Katya before dropping it back into the water. Katya pushes herself off the door and sits on the toilet lid.
Trixie is ruddy with the heat. Her bangs are pushed back by one of Katya’s bandanas wrapped across her head, and little beads of sweat form at her hairline and roll down her temples. She heaves a sigh and cracks a bloodshot eye open.
“Hi.”
Her voice is soft and thin, and Katya can tell she’s been crying since she went out to smoke. Katya wants to scream against the smallness of it.
“Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”
Trixie shrugs and opens both eyes to regard the missing chunk of porcelain.
“Kind of like drowning myself. But better than earlier,” She cracks a smile and looks back at Katya, who pulls her face from shocked to pleased as fast as she can.
“Well, hey, that’s good,” Katya nods. She’s suddenly grateful for finishing her smoke break when she did.
Trixie’s tongue darts around her mouth and she looks away again. She pulls the bandana off her head and rewraps it so it covers her hair completely, tucking in the long strands and tying the fabric off to hold it all together.
“Let’s work this out.”
It comes out of Katya’s mouth faster than she can process, and Trixie pauses in scrubbing her pink skin with a washcloth and soap to look at her curiously.
“What’s there to work out?”
“Whatever is happening between us.” Katya leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. She’s face to face with Trixie’s breasts bouncing against the bathwater, and she has half a mind to right herself and retain eye contact with Trixie, but thinks better of it when Trixie’s nipples harden in the air, cooler than the scalding water. She grips the fabric of her sweater instead of reaching across the tub to pinch them.
“I don’t believe anything is happening between us.”
Trixie attempts to sound even, but Katya can hear the anger simmering in her chest. She glances up to see Trixie looking at her with confused and annoyed eyes, pausing her movements to drive her point home before resuming.
“That’s...kinda the point. What I mean to say is,” Katya continues quickly when she sees Trixie visibly tense up and puff out her chest. “You’re clearly depressed, and it’s okay that you’re depressed, I mean, you have a good reason,” Trixie doesn’t hesitate to splash her as she moves to scrub her feet. Katya sits up in an attempt to look her in the eyes. “But it’s starting to affect our relationship, and I want to fix it before it gets worse.”
“I don’t know what to say to you,” Trixie says dryly. “Can’t you see I’m trying? I don’t know what to do.”
“Let me help you. Let’s...do something stupid.” Katya gestures with her hand in a fit of inspiration. “We might not be able to get out of this damn house but we can at least find something to do. I can do your makeup for you again! That made you laugh pretty hard.”
Trixie smiles again and chuckles a little, but doesn’t look up from the bath.
Katya sits back against the tank of the toilet and watches Trixie as she considers her suggestion. She follows her hands smoothing over her skin with the washcloth, disappearing between her legs and emerging between her breasts after a few moments. Katya bounces a leg and digs her fingers into her sweater harder.
The record is still playing loud against their silence. The bass has always been Katya’s favorite part of any Beatles song, steady and melodic, delivering beautiful lines of music while being foundational enough to make sense. She finds herself bobbing her head along while Trixie washes herself, and she pulls herself from her thoughts when she hears the drain being unplugged.
She gets up and grabs the towel from underneath her, unfolds it and holds it open for Trixie. Trixie eyes it with half a smile and looks up at Katya.
“You were sitting on that.”
“So? It’s warm. You’re welcome.”
“Those jeans haven’t been washed in weeks.”
“I haven’t been anywhere in weeks either, get in here.”
Trixie squeals when Katya lunges on her and wraps her up tight. Katya rests her head on her shoulder, soft and warm and wet, and kisses her neck.
“I know what I want to do.”
Katya pulls herself back at the mischievousness in Trixie’s voice and eyes her warily.
Two hours and two bottles of wine later, Katya stands on swaying legs in the kitchen, where she promised Trixie she would wait for her. Trixie had skipped off into the bedroom to bring back a “surprise” for Katya, and she can hear her laughing to herself and stumbling into things in her search.
The two had sat down at the dinner table and chugged the first bottle in silence, not even bothering to use glasses. Katya had felt the low level of drunkenness they’ve shared the past few days settle deeper into her skin. She’s warm all over now, the chill of the outside air long gone.
“Don’t come for me!” Trixie shrieks out a laugh after Katya hears a particularly loud bang. “‘M fine!”
Katya’s vision swims just slightly as she laughs and traces the wood grain of the cabinets with her eyes. She’s set on making out a face in the pattern when she hears Trixie running down the hallway, feet slapping loudly.
Trixie turns the corner and stumbles into Katya as she pushes a wad of fabric to her chest. She bursts into laughter, uncontrollable laughter that has her stomping her feet and burying her face into Katya’s neck.
Katya shouldn’t have let her finish off that last bottle of wine, she thinks, but they are iced in- it’s not like there’s any chance of her getting out and making a fool of herself. Still, she should probably baby-proof the house.
“Come with me,” Trixie slurs into Katya’s neck, her tongue licking her vein in her drunken speech. Katya gasps and laughs into her hair and nods.
“Wait,” Katya mutters when Trixie pulls on the sleeve of Katya’s sweater.
She tilts Trixie’s face up with the crook of her finger and kisses her gently on dry lips. Trixie stands on Katya’s toes, and she bounces against them in excitement when Katya kisses her, and she opens her mouth to her and moans.
Katya pushes her against the counter and digs her fingers into Trixie’s waist, the mysterious fabric snug between their breasts. Trixie squeals, and Katya knows it’s because the cold handles of the drawers are digging into her bottom. Trixie is drunkenly warm enough that she doesn’t need pants, though Katya can see the goosebumps rising over her fading tan. She shivers at the feeling and Katya laughs against her mouth, tickles her ribs and bites her lip.
“What did you get for me?”
“Come with me,” Trixie repeats. She pinches Katya’s ass and laughs loudly into her face when Katya barks. “You have it already.”
“Oh.”
Katya pulls back and observes the fabric with squinting eyes, driving Trixie to laugh louder and harder.
“Don’t laugh at me! I’m old!”
Trixie wiggles to free herself and starts towards the bedroom, a fistful of Katya’s sweater in her hand and giggles tumbling out of her mouth.
Trixie shuffles backwards to land against the bed. Katya registers the muffled sound of one of her favorite Beatles songs as she watches Trixie’s thighs bounce against the contact. Her peach cashmere sweater is slipping off a shoulder, and she looks positively fucked, beautiful messy curls framing her face and shoulders.
Her lips are a little swollen from when she cornered Katya on the walk to the bedroom and made out with her for five minutes straight, fingers wandering enough that Katya’s sweaters are now long-gone. She can’t feel the chill in the air for the wine in her veins and Trixie half naked in her line of vision, the biggest smile on her face Katya’s seen in a month.
Katya looks back down at what she’s clutching, and it registers in her brain that the material is white and flimsy. The fabric doesn’t seem to do much at all other than look pretty. As she holds it up in front of herself, it unwinds and hangs limply, and Trixie lets out a quick laugh.
It’s a dress; more importantly, it looks like something a pirate wench would wear in a centerfold, and Katya’s jaw drops as she realizes that Trixie’s actually worn this; it drops more at how much she wants Trixie to wear it for her and call her “Captain.” But it’s her turn to wear it, and she closes her mouth in a moment of sober realization.
The fabric might feel light, but it’s expensive. It flows between Katya’s fingertips with ease as she takes in the ruffled, flowing sleeves and the elasticized top that looks like the dress had stopped being made at the shoulders. It barely looks long enough to be considered a dress at all.
Katya glances back up at Trixie, who’s propped up by her hands and biting her lip mischievously. Her face is flushed even more and she looks like she can barely contain her excitement.
“Are you serious..?” Katya lifts the dress up a little in question.
“Yes!” Trixie bursts into laughter, limbs and spine reaching towards the floor. It makes Katya laugh a little bit too, in that infectious way true happiness creeps up whether or not it’s invited. “Please, Katya, please!”
“You want me-“ Katya lets go of the dress to jerk a thumb towards her bare chest. “To wear this?”
Trixie laughs too hard to respond verbally. She sits up and nods as a tear trickles down her plump cheek.
Katya thinks she can hear Trixie wheeze out a “Please,” and Katya sighs.
“I mean, if it’s already this funny…”
Katya looks back down at the fabric and shakes her head, then turns to walk to the bathroom.
Trixie hollers in excitement behind her and Katya can hear the bedsprings creak.
“Don’t jump on the bed when I’m not in there!” Katya calls over her shoulder. She turns once she’s in the bathroom to close the door and spots Trixie landing on the mattress with a big bounce and a little pout.
It takes her entirely too long to figure out how to put it on. Once she succeeds, she has a little trouble keeping the elastic up over her chest, it having been stretched out by Trixie multiple times. The thought of wearing something that’s been on Trixie’s body sends a chill up Katya’s spine, and she rubs the soft fabric against her stomach for a short moment before adjusting the dress one final time. She keeps tugging at the hem but it doesn’t budge past the middle of her thigh, and it’s an awkward feeling, having most of her legs showing. She wonders if Trixie would be able to see and touch everything if Katya bent over.
Katya walks back into the bedroom with her head down and eyes staring ahead of her and Trixie’s drunken jabbering stops abruptly.
“What, do I look that awful?” Katya laughs a little. She’s embarrassed, but she’s willing to put up with a lot to make Trixie happy, she realizes, and if wearing a dress for the first time since she was a kid is what makes her happy, then she’s just going to have to get over herself and do it.
“No,” Trixie says softly. “You look beautiful…”
Katya looks up and sees Trixie completely still, on her knees, staring at Katya with big eyes and a little gaping mouth. She blinks once, twice, and then her hands are flitting back and forth, beckoning Katya towards her. Katya shuffles forward, an unfamiliar breeze billowing between her legs.
“You look like a fucking princess…” Trixie breathes. “Here.”
She quickly unwinds the plaits in Katya’s braids. Her fingers snag against a few knots and Katya just barely feels it- Trixie looks like she has no clue she’s doing it at all. Her sweater is right in Katya’s face, the material rubbing against the tip of her nose as Trixie kneels up to fluff the sides and back of Katya’s hair.
Katya lifts her hands to cup Trixie’s breasts and holds them, heavy and hot, as Trixie works. Trixie hums, and Katya’s content to stand there, grabbing her favorite tits and having her favorite woman play with her hair. She kisses the valley between her breasts and buries her face in as Trixie works.
“Done!” Trixie announces, and she sits back on her heels with a big grin. “Look.”
Katya takes a moment before she turns to look at herself in the mirror over the dresser, and her breath catches.
She doesn’t look bad at all; in fact, she looks really good, if a little bony in the overflowing fabric. The sleeves only come to the middle of her forearms where her muscles bulge and push at the elastic. She smiles to herself and pulls a little at her hair to fluff it out more. Trixie’s got it flipped over to one side, but it’s pulled off her shoulders, and Katya’s collar bones are on full display, her tanned skin standing out against the stark white of the dress.
“Not half bad…” She mutters.
Katya meets Trixie’s eyes in the mirror, and she’s still kneeling on the bed, staring intently back at Katya with an unreadable look.
“So are you happy?” Katya asks.
Trixie nods. “I didn’t...think it would be this good. And I had high hopes.”
Her eyes rake down Katya’s figure and settle where the lace applique of the dress’ hem meets her strong thighs.
“Katya,” She breathes. “Let me fuck you like that.”
Monday morning brings a thaw to Big Rock and warm enough temperatures that Katya sweats underneath her cashmere sweater. Trixie still bundles up in a coat and cardigan, and they trudge to the truck through thick mud on a mission to buy groceries.
The trip marks the first time Trixie has ventured into town in over a month. Katya briefly wonders on the drive in if Trixie is going to make it, or if she’ll have a meltdown and refuse to get out of the truck and demand Katya drive her home.
Katya has done the grocery shopping alone since the incident, and she’s happy to read off a list in Trixie’s pretty cursive and throw items into a cart as quickly as possible. But in a brief moment of positivity Sunday evening, the couple agreed to drive into town together, and Katya held Trixie to it through the pouts and near breakdowns.
There is no promise that their trip will pass without an event. Both of them know this; there was no need to say it out loud when they saw it in each other’s eyes as they dressed. In all likelihood, something will happen, and Katya can only hope she can diffuse it before it gets out of hand.
They track mud into town, flinging dried bits of dirt onto the Piggly Wiggly parking lot as they pull in.
Katya cuts the engine and doesn’t move but to hold Trixie’s hand searching for hers on the car seat. It’s clammy; she brings it to her face and kisses her knuckles before giving her a good squeeze and dropping it.
“Ready?”
She looks over at Trixie, perfectly made up and staring at the meandering customers entering and exiting the store. Trixie nods, finally, and Katya jumps out of the truck and rounds it to help her down.
Katya can handle the lingering looks in town. She can stomach hearing housewives whisper to each other as she passes them in the supermarket, the occasional “dyke” hurled at her by a pimply teenager dared by his cronies. Her skin is thick enough to withstand almost anything after years of verbal abuse in Big Rock; what it can’t withstand is seeing Trixie flinch when they turn their gaze to her.
Trixie’s femininity combined with her sexuality leaves everyone around them at a loss with how to respond to her, and Katya is more scared of that than she ever has been of their perception of herself.
People know what to do with Katya, where to put her. She fits easily on their spectrum, a solid Dyke, but Trixie seems to make them second guess themselves. Katya’s counted more double takes and rapid rounds of blinking than she can remember; Trixie’s face turns red every time and she hides behind her hair, or else Katya’s shoulder.
It’s the blatant staring. Katya can’t protect Trixie from their eyes, she can’t make them understand that a woman that looks like Trixie can love women, too, in an A-line skirt and a blouse. Katya can’t stop and explain to every Nancy and Sue at the deli counter that Trixie’s gripping onto Katya’s flannel because she’s scared to be seen with her. She can’t explain to Trixie that she’s not crying at night because it hurts her feelings.
They walk side by side as Trixie pushes the shopping cart underneath fluorescent lights. She points and Katya pulls products from shelves and cold cases, hands Katya the list of deli meats they need and picks at the plastic grip on the cart as they wait for the employee to finish their order.
Katya spots Trixie’s mother, the same figure she saw in a blur behind her father’s angry face, and nudges Trixie’s back in the opposite direction. She can feel the blood leave her face, knows they both much look like spectres haunting the linoleum walkways for different reasons. She doesn’t tell Trixie.
The cashier flinches when Trixie reaches into Katya’s back pocket to take out her wallet. Katya wants to reach over the register and sock him in the jaw for how he stares at her with his mouth gaping open. Trixie fishes for the bills as fast as she can and she stumbles over her fingers, her red blunt nails glinting in the blue supermarket light. Katya’s eyes don’t leave the cashier as he stares.
He looks to Katya when giving back change, and Katya turns away from him, bumping his outstretched hand and scattering coins across the counter. She grabs the bags and stalks out of the store, leaving Trixie speed walking behind her, wallet clenched between sweating hands.
On the way home, Trixie looks at her nails and pushes at invisible cuticles. She straightens her pantyhose and works at a smudge on her patent heel, anything to keep her head below eyesight. Katya doesn’t bother to drive smoothly or to dry the tears pooling in her eyes. The Chevy hits all the potholes in town; the bags between them tumble onto the floorboard and Trixie rushes to collect bread from underneath the accelerator, double check the eggs at her feet, catch the lettuce that rolls around in its plastic wrap.
Trixie puts up the groceries at lightning speed. She shoves the vegetables in their bin inside the fridge without trading out the old ones, leaves the bread on the counter instead of sliding it inside the breadbox.
Katya follows behind her and tidies up without a word. Her socks don’t make a sound on the floor; Trixie’s heels echo over her whispering.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it…”
Katya’s hands slow to a stop at the breadbox when she catches Trixie’s voice. She leans against the counter and waits for her to turn from the sink, where she’s unnecessarily washing her hands.
Trixie dries them roughly and rests them against the lip of the counter, where they shake in their grip. Her breaths come short and staggered. Katya catches a glimpse of a tear falling and she pushes herself to stand and walk over to her.
At the muttering of her name, Trixie bends forward in a sob. Her hair tumbles into the sink and the ends turn dark with the water still draining, and Katya lunges to pull it back over her shoulders and wrap her hands around her waist. She leans into her back and rubs her nose against her blouse, breathes in her perfume as she cries brokenly.
Seconds turn into minutes, the golden light of the early sunset cutting into the kitchen and illuminating the motes of dust hanging in the air. Katya watches them float until it’s too dark to see them in the dusk, and then she stands and turns Trixie around, articulates her limbs to position her upright.
Trixie stares at the wall behind Katya as she’s spoken to.
“You need to tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you. What do you need from me?”
Katya is seconds away from dropping to her knees and asking Trixie to elope with her, anything to make her smile and take her away from their own private hell.
It’s something Katya has thought about more often than not, and she knows she’s ready- she isn’t sure if Trixie is, though. Katya wants nothing more than to shove the simple silver engagement ring with the tiny diamond she found in an antique store onto Trixie’s finger and pack her Chevy full to bursting in the dead of night. She has the money, and she has the anger pent up inside to fuel her for a good few hundred miles.
She keeps the ring in her pocket, just in case.
Trixie sniffs heavily and looks up at Katya with bloodshot eyes, mascara pooled beneath her eyes and smudged down her cheeks. Katya cups her face and brushes against her swollen nose with her thumb before attempting to wipe the smudges away.
“There’s no room for us here. There never has been. You were lucky they tolerated you for as long as they did, but now? With everyone knowing, and how they stare at me…” Trixie shakes her head. “We don’t belong here.”
“You know we don’t belong anywhere,” Katya says quietly. Trixie squeezes her eyes shut. “We have to make our own space- that’s what I did. That’s what we’re going to do together. If you think for one second I’m going to let anyone bully you because of who you are…” Katya sighs. “Let’s go somewhere else, we can find a big city. Maybe we won’t have to try so hard there, maybe...there will be others like us, more than just our neighbors.”
Trixie pulls Katya’s hands from her face gently and walks to the dining room table to sift through the mail.
“Katya, we have to have a reason. Neither of us have anything lined up, and we can’t just…”
Trixie stares intently at an envelope. She drops the rest of the mail to the floor and rips the top open, pulls a letter out with trembling fingers.
“What is it?”
Katya sidesteps the mail to stand before Trixie. She watches Trixie’s eyes scan the contents of the letter, then go back to the top and read it again. The color drains from her face and her mouth falls open as she leans drops the letter to her side and leans against the table.
“I got in.”