Work Text:
- baby names
The infuriating thing about Therese is how unaware she is. Her hair is never out of place, she can spot something wrong from miles away and has an eye for detail yet she insists she is just a regular girl. She is unaware of how a room brightens when she enters it, how heads turn whenever she walks down the corridors of the university. Therese is modest about it, insisting she is nothing extraordinary to cause such effects.
Alma disagrees. She would never say it out loud, not wanting to make her cheeks redder than usual. With time, she has learned what buttons to press and which ones to avoid. Alma will be the first to admit she talks too much, often saying the right things at the wrong time. She admires it in Therese, who always seems to say what others want to hear and always with the utmost sincerity.
She is a classical beauty in the original sense of the word. She doesn't use profanities in her sentences and speaks with the cadence of a Disney princess. She still carries the traditions of her Catholic education, from the scapular hanging from her neck to her knee length plaid skirts and knitted sweaters she always wears.
She is so unlike Alma, who upon tasting freedom for the first time wants to try it all. Alma, who cut her bangs way too short but never let them grow again after noticing more girls hit on her that way. Alma, who had her sexual awakening seeing pictures of St Thérèse of Lisieu in religion class. Alma, who is totally and completely in love with her roommate.
Therese doesn't seem to notice. If she does, she hides it perfectly well, putting her time in drama class to good use.
“Have you seen my red jumper?” She asks, walking into the room. Therese seems frustrated, as red as the sweater she is looking for. She walks in wearing a skirt and a white lace bra and Alma does her best not to stare at each one of the beauty marks across her torso.
“Uh, I don't think so?”
She sighs, sitting on the foot of Alma's bed. “I needed it for a job interview. It's my best one.”
“You can get one of my shirts and a coat, if you'd like. Where's the interview?”
“At the bookstore on campus. The one next to the Humanities building.”
Therese lays next to her, closing her eyes. The book Alma holds is forgotten, the words on the page look like Russian to her. No fiction or poetry is more attractive than the girl by her side.
“I am nervous.”
“I am sure you will do well, Therese. You are the smartest girl I know.”
“There is no need to lie to make me feel better,” she says, hiding her face in her hands. Her self esteem doesn't allow her to take compliments without replying with a dry remark about herself. It upsets Alma more than it should.
“I am being honest. You know I am not the type to lie.”
“Yeah, that's why all philosophy classes are just you and Germania arguing for hours on end.”
Alma groans, hitting her with a flower shaped pillow. “Don't mention her in our room. This is our space of peace and quiet, I don't wanna ruin it by thinking of that fascist bitch.”
Therese laughs, as she always does when Alma gets annoyed and starts cursing. “What type of name is Germania Tedesco anyway? It's redundant.”
“I hear all of her siblings are named after places. Isn't that weird?”
“Perhaps it's a family tradition. What would you name your children?”
Alma stills. She has never thought about having children. To her, motherhood seemed as distant as an imaginary land she would never visit. “I don't know. I never thought about it.”
“Never?” Therese sounds shocked. “Not even when you were a child and named your doll something?”
“I suppose if we are considering doll names, I would've named my daughter Catherine.”
Therese gasps, furrowing her brows. “You stole my baby name!”
“What? How could've known?”
Therese points to the poster of St Catherine of Alexandria hanging above her bed. Alma sighs, not even considering that as an option.
“How could I have known?”
“What’s next? You steal my baby name and then you steal my jumper?”
“I don't want your sweaters, Therese. They are not my style. Speaking of which, you should steal one of my shirts and go to the interview.”
They are so close, noses almost touching.
“It wouldn't be stealing if you authorized it.”
She gets up from the bed, straightening her skirt. Her tall, lean body is a direct reflection of her years in ballet, she still carries herself with the poise of a lifelong dancer.
“Pray for me,” she says, putting on Alma's white button up. She looks enchanting. Alma shivers when imagining her wearing her perfume.
“I don't need to. You are God's favourite.”
“Am I yours?”
“My favourite? Yeah, Therese. You are my best friend. My best girl.”
She flushes, skin turning pink. “I will go, then.”
Therese smiles, grabbing a cardigan and walking out the door. Alma sits in her bed, feeling the weight of her love for Therese. It's fraternal, like the love of great friends. It's romantic, beyond the love her parents feel for each other. It's devotional, a worship type of love. Most importantly, it's intense and all consuming and all Alma can think about most days.
It's also a secret, something Alma wouldn't admit out loud. Therese is a mystery to her in many ways, there are things she buries within her chest and refuses to let out. They are close, as close as two can be, but there is much to learn about her.
Alma sighs. She goes to her closet, hands tracing the imaginary trail Therese left behind. It makes her feel close to her. On a whim, she reaches for the rosary hidden inside of a drawer, gathering dust, next to Therese’s stolen sweater. Like muscle memory, she holds it in her hands before closing her eyes and praying for Therese. For the first time in years, she feels the Holy Ghost in the room with her.
- ideas
Therese batted her eyelashes. Whatever came before didn't matter. This is where Alma was captivated enough to store the moment in her brain. Slowly, eyelashes touching as she smiles, asking for something small.
She has never been the type to ask but also not the type to take either. Therese prays and waits, accepting what comes and telling herself what is meant to be hers will come. Alma thinks it is depressing to never think of herself as deserving of something. All of her achievements are God’s gifts to her. Therese is always thankful and never proud.
“Are you busy? I can talk to you at another time.”
“No, Therese, I am sorry. I am just distracted. Come again?”
“I'm telling you I'm thinking about signing up to volunteer for the autumn fair.”
“Really? I've never pegged you for the type to enjoy these things.”
Alma spins on her chair, staring at Therese’s standing figure. Her soft pink shirt hugs her skin perfectly. If Alma stares at it hard enough, she can see the lace of her bra showing through the fabric. She has dwelled on this fantasy a thousand times.
Her lips brushing against her pink nipples, the lace being the only thing separating Alma's mouth from her breasts. Gently undressing Therese, fingers tracing her clavicles and ribs. Sucking marks at her pale skin, purple staining white in the same way wine stains a tablecloth. Kissing her lips, oh how Alma has thought about it!
The margins of her notebooks are covered in small, secretive drawings of Therese's features. Never the entire face, she isn't that obvious. Her dominant nose on the side of a textbook, her pale blue eyes hidden between some ancient text. The lips are reserved to her diary, a place where only the most intense longing comes to die. It doesn't work.
“I am not sure,” Therese shrugs. “I don't think I can't stand being alone for so many weekends.”
“So you want me to volunteer with you.”
“I know you are busy with your article, Alma.”
Therese bites her lips, turning her gaze away from her. “It’s no sin to want company.”
“I should be better at being alone.”
“You are on a different continent, darling. I think your distaste is justified,” Alma stands up, her article for her internship lies forgotten on her laptop screen. “You stole my idea, anyway. I considered volunteering once I knew they would give you credits for it.”
“Really?” She smiles, taking Alma by surprise and hugging her. “I didn't know if you would accept it.”
“Well, you never asked properly.”
“Alma,” she says, staring at her and touching her hand. Her gaze is sincere, too intense for her to withstand it. Ashamed, Alma shies away from her gaze. “Will you volunteer with me? Pretty please?”
“Yes. Yes!”
“Oh, I'm overjoyed. I feel like I'm getting married,” she smiles, throwing herself on her bed.
“Is this something you'd want? Marriage, I mean.”
“I suppose so. I don't think being a wife is my vocation but I would like to have a family. Not necessarily kids but a dog or a fish, someone to come home to.”
“Like a cat?”
“You know I am allergic,” she teases. “Someone like you.”
Alma's heart skips a bit and she feels her soul leaving her body and never returning.
“Oh, I am sorry, I shouldn't have-”
“It's alright. I just never imagined myself as someone others would like to come home to.”
“You must be joking. Alma, anyone would be glad to have someone like you in their lives. You are the nicest person I know. In fact, I don't know if I should be happy I met you or sad it took me so long to find you. All I'm saying is you will make a girl very happy some day.”
She feels her cheeks getting warm. Alma has never been one to blush but Therese brings out something special in her. She has never been particularly sweet or warm, caring more about being right than being liked. “Thank you, Therese. That's very kind of you.”
“Its the truth,” she insists.
“Well, then I must say you will make a man very happy some day.”
She mutters something under her breath.
“Sorry, I didn't catch that.”
“It can be anyone,” she says, not as confidently as always. “Man, woman, in between. I'm not…”
“Straight?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
Alma smiles. She hadn't considered the possibility that Therese might share that with her, an affection for women. They lie on opposite sides of the spectrum. Alma is bright and open about her sexuality, often commenting on how many women she makes out with on a night out and openly exploring all that life gives us, while Therese is stiff and secretive and didn't mention kissing anyone until she was flushed with wine.
“Welcome to the club,” Alma laughs. “God, I wouldn't have ever guessed.”
“Why?” She frowns.
“You are like an oyster, sometimes. Hiding so many precious parts of yourself. It's hard to get to know you sometimes.”
“It’s complicated. You Americans are taught every single one of you is special, everyone is a star, and everything matters. You are unique and that's what makes life beautiful. I'm just someone else. I didn't think it was important or particularly interesting. I suppose that explains our national passion for detective novels, we think things are meant to be kept a secret for when we eventually find ourselves in a mystery.”
“Ha! That's a great analogy,” she jokes. Something tastes bitter in her mouth, the unspilled words. She wants to tell Therese she can be open, there is nothing to fear, but Alma understands Rome wasn't built in a day.
“I will let you write. I have taken too much of your time.”
“Never, Therese. I enjoy your company.”
With that she goes back to her computer but her heart never goes back to its natural rhythm. Therese has infiltrated her body and soul.
- the spotlight
“Drinks for the birthday girl!” Giulia says, bringing in two cosmopolitans to the table. They are sitting at a bar, a fancy one outside campus reserved for special occasions.
Alma's silver eyeshadow shines on the dimly lit room. She feels incredible. “Oh, Giu, you didn't have to!”
“I didn't have time to buy you a present so consider me paying your bill to be your gift.”
Giulia and Alma met online in their teenage years. The website no longer exists but their friendship lingered. They don't see each other as often but she insists on driving to visit Alma whenever she can.
Alma grabs her phone and stares at a text message that pops up on the screen. She smiles. “Can you order another one? Therese is coming.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed. “I didn't know she was coming.”
“I hope you don't mind. She wasn't going to but she changed her mind last minute.”
It's no secret Giulia isn't fond of Therese. She judges her for keeping her faith so close to her heart, for not having gone through the traditional rebellion that was the foundation of hers and Alma's friendship. She is steady while Giulia is strong, soft where Giulia is smooth. They are anthesis but still on the same side.
“Is she still,” she gestures around. “Like that?”
“Giulia,” she warns her.
“I'm sorry. I just can't get over how blind she is. You have been in love with her for ages and she refuses to see it.”
“Or she just doesn't feel the same.”
“Come on, Alma. Who wouldn't?”
“It’s funny,” she laughs. “She told me the same thing last week. You two have more in common than you think.”
Giulia shrugs. She points towards the door with her head, a small smile on her lips. “Here comes your friend.”
Therese wears a tight black dress, more reminiscent of something one might wear to work than to a night out. Her hair indicates she used curlers, scoffing at Alma's hair products and doing it the old fashioned way. She is all smiles as she approaches, leaving two kisses on Giulia's cheeks and a big one on Alma's.
“Happy birthday!” She says, as if they hadn't seen each other that very morning. “Oh, Alma, how happy am I to be here!”
“I thought you had a lecture.”
“I did,” she blushes, presenting them a coy smile. “I had to come and see you.”
She reaches for her bag, pulling out something covered in a silver gift wrap. It shines beautifully under the lights of the bar, reflecting colour in both of their faces. Therese hands it to Alma, unable to contain her happiness, and smiles.
Alma's long fingers quickly work to unwrap it without tearing out the paper. She finds a book, an old used copy of Autobiography Of Red. “I love it, thank you!”
“Open up,” she whispers. Alma's heart jumps in anticipation and she finds a note there.
To Alma.
A volcano is a volcano is a volcano.
On the bottom of the page lies Anne Carson’s signature. She feels the tears coming out of her eyes and rushes to hug Therese. “How did you get this?”
She shrugs. “A lot of work. Let's say I will be working weekends to thank my boss.”
“God, Therese, I love you.”
“Don't blaspheme!” Giulia jokes, sipping her cocktail.
“It's alright,” Therese replies. “I think He would understand.”
“I don't even know how to act,” she says, overwhelmed with happiness. “I wanna go home and read it but also never touch it again.”
“It will be hard to come back from it,” Giulia says, smiling with all her teeth. Her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and she seems less preoccupied with Therese’s presence.
“I'm sorry, Alma. This night should be about you and not-”
“Shh. You just gave me a signed copy of my favourite book. You could've walked in a wedding dress and I would still be happy.”
“If that's true,” she replies shyly. “I will grab myself a drink.”
- drinks
Alma's hands are wrapped around her waist as they make their way to their dorm. After confessing Giulia was paying her bill and suggesting they shared a few drinks, Therese became a different person. The line of stiffness across her shoulders gave place to a new found sense of relaxation as she sipped each cocktail they ordered. Therese, a self proclaimed drinker, confessed on the bottom of the glass that she only drinks wine and on Sundays.
“Oh Alma, I am sorry,” she laughs as she finishes a story. “I must have told this one already.”
It's true but she would gladly hear it again.
“It's alright. I don't think you did.”
“My parents are killing me if they find out.”
“You are an adult, Therese. I doubt they will.”
“You don't understand,” she says, leaning against a wall. Her eyes are deep into Alma's soul, so shiny they reflect like glass. “They would kill me.”
“Let's keep it a secret.”
“Sorry for drinking too much.”
“Don't worry, you are fun like this.”
“Yeah,” she says, teasingly. If Alma didn't know her better, she would've thought she was flirting. She blinks twice, letting the moment go without reading into it.
They keep walking in silence, making their way through the city. It's a calm night, one where words aren't as important as their eyes. On occasion, they comment on an interesting restaurant they pass by or a store they would like to visit someday. It's a comfortable scene, one that could grow into a routine. Alma wishes to be here forever, hand on Therese’s waist, her perfume on her skin.
“Can I tell you something?” Therese asks suddenly.
“Whatever you want.”
She pretends her heart doesn't flutter, pretends there's no expectations behind her words. In love stories, that's when the confession happens. Alma tries not to trick herself into believing something will happen as her foolish hopes can only ruin a perfect night.
There is no blame in Therese if she doesn't reciprocate her feelings. Alma would rather store them in her heart and love the thought of one day having her forever than to lose it by making her feelings known.
“Your name means soul. It's a perfect match, don't you think?” Therese says, touching her chest. “You put yourself into everything you do. Does that make sense?”
“What does Therese mean?”
“I don't know. My mom named me after Thérèse De Lisieux, the little flower. I ignore what it means and focus on it.”
“A flower. It's fitting. You already look like a rose when you blush.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes,” she says as they enter their building. The hallways are cold and she feels goosebumps running down Therese’s skin. Alma lets go of her waist and unlocks the door, letting themselves into their room.
Therese stumbles towards the edge of the bed, not moving a finger to take off her dress while Alma searches for medication. She places them on her hand and reaches for her water bottle, handing it to Therese.
“This is my hangover cocktail. It prevents suffering.”
“Ugh, don't say the word cocktail again. My head is spinning.”
“Perhaps you should stick to only drinking the body of Christ.”
“Did you know,” she asks, whispering as if anyone could wear them. “I once stole a bottle of sacramental wine at school. My friends and I drank half of it and flushed the rest down the drain, like Augustine and the pears.”
Alma chokes on laughter, falling down to the ground. She throws her head back, trying to catch air. “I can't believe you did that.”
“It's true.”
They stay in silence, undressing and getting ready for bed. Alma takes off her red tights, throwing them on a chair and telling herself it's tomorrow's problem.
“Alma?” She asks sleepily.
“Hm?”
“Thank you for tonight. It was wonderful.”
Before she can reply, she looks at Therese with her eyes closed and a blissful smile. That's a conversation that can be had tomorrow.
- the last slice
The first week of the fall festival is chaotic at best. Alma got assigned to work at a pizza stand while across from the kissing booth, run by overly excited freshmen. She enjoyed the promise of cooking, even if it was just slicing and topping frozen pizzas, while watching younger students embarrassing themselves.
Therese is working at a mini bookshop stand at the opposite corner. They rarely see each other, except for lunch breaks. Alma sneaks out of the booth at noon, a few slices of pizza and sodas hidden in her tote bag, to meet her. She plans on having a little picnic, sitting on a bench next to the orange leaves lining the ground.
“You will never guess who came here!” Therese says instead of greeting her. She sounds joyful and revolted at the same time.
“Who?”
“Jo!”
“Jo March from Little Women?”
“No,” she rolls her eyes, hitting her in the elbow. They make their way towards a picnic area, walking side by side. “Jo Tremblay, the hockey player.”
“Oh. I never pictured her as someone who would read a book.”
“Yeah, she wasn't there for them. She asked me to be in the kissing booth, said I have the face for it.”
A spark of jealousy hits her. It's easy to picture Jo, charming and exuberant Jo, fawning over Therese and flirting with her. She bites her lips, forcing her eyes to smile. “And what did you say?”
“I don't know. I'm not the kind of girl to do this.”
They sit on a picnic table and Alma lays the table, taking the pizza out of its container. She has a few pepperoni slices and mini garlic bread on the side. She pulls out the soda she brought along and the two straws for them to share.
“These are delicious, Alma,” she says after taking a bite. “You are a really good cook.”
“Oh, don't flatter me. All I do is take them out of the freezer and put some toppings on.”
“Still, you are very skilled. More than I am,” Therese takes a deep breath and drops the pizza on a napkin, staring at Alma. “Would you do it?”
“What?”
“The kissing booth. Would you kiss people for money?”
“When you put it that way, I guess I wouldn't. I am interested in someone, it would feel like cheating.”
Alma wants to die as soon as the words leave her mouth. She knows Therese won't live it down, her love for detective fiction will force her to get to the bottom of it. “Oh, is she aware of it?”
“No, I lack the courage to be honest.”
Therese sighs, reaching for the last slice of pizza. Alma is so distracted she doesn't even care that she planned to eat it. Her nerves swirl on her stomach. She chews on her lips, trying to find a way to swerve the conversation.
“Don't be so hard on yourself.”
“I'm being honest.”
“I am sure she will handle this kindly, unless you are in love with Germania.”
“Ew, no. Never say that again.”
Therese laughs, autumn wind blowing her hair. She looks like a painting. “She's a lucky girl, whoever she is, to be loved by you.”
There's a hint of jealousy in her eyes, an almost mournful sadness. Could it be? No, Alma decides, she's just seeing what she wants to see.
“I’ve never said anything about love,” she says, trying to convince herself it's not that serious.
“I can see it in your eyes. They shine differently when you talk about her.”
Therese stands up, cleaning the crumbs that adorn her dress. She smiles, a big and white smile, and breathes out. “I take Jo's offer. Maybe you could stop by later?”
“Yeah,” Alma says, face flushed. “I will.”
+ 1 a kiss
Alma is sure she's tucked up when she spends the rest of her shift seeing Therese twirling her hair on the kissing booth. She's in a cold war, forced to watch and never act. In an attempt to stay calm, she tells herself the proceeds go to charity. Therese was never hers but it's hard to shake it off the feeling that she was.
Jealousy is a bad look on her, she decides, so she goes back to slicing onions. The knife is sharp and she uses this as an excuse for shedding a few tears before putting herself together.
It's almost by the end of her shift when she decides to take a bathroom break and stop by a tent selling alcohol. Alma satisfies herself with a shot of strawberry flavoured vodka before returning to her post of eternal torture. She feels like Tantalus, forced to watch but never touch.
When she is finally allowed to leave, with a few cookies hidden in her bag, Alma decides to be brave and stop by the kissing booth. Her arms shake in anticipation.
One kiss can ruin it all. The simple touching of lips can put an end to their friendship. She can always try and shrug it off as a joke, something meaningless, but she can't die without trying. Alma can already taste her vanilla lip gloss in her mouth.
“Is Therese here?”
“Yeah, she is in the back, I will get her.”
Nervous, Alma shifts from foot to foot. She waits until Therese appears, smiling as always.
“How much for a kiss?”
“I am sorry?” She asks, laughing. “Three for a kiss on the cheek, five for one on the lips.”
“I will kiss you,” she replies. “For charity.”
“Of course.”
“It's important to help the children.”
“Dogs,” she corrects, raising an eyebrow.
“Dogs,” Alma nods. “Got it.”
“So,” Therese says, leaning in. “What's it going to be?”
Alma skims through her pockets, trying to find loose change. All she can find is a button and a single coin. “Do you take cards?”
“I am sorry we don't,” she says with a mischievous smile. “I guess you are going to have to steal it.”
She feels her face going red before she processes the words. Alma leans in, aiming for her mouth. She closes her eyes, expecting rejection, but it never comes. They kiss. Therese's long fingers pull her closer and her tongue slips inside Alma's mouth.
This isn't just any kiss. It's a love kiss.
When they part, Therese smiles. She doesn't let go of Alma, instead moving her hand to rest on her shoulder. She smiles, biting her nail. “Well?”
“I don't know, I think I should do it again. Just to help the dogs.”
“There is no need for it, Alma.” She says, going for another kiss. “I'll kiss you any time.”
“For free?”
Therese nods, kissing her again. She closes her eyes and relishes the moment. It lasts forever.