Cicadas

2006

Graduation was two weeks ago. Candy and Mae's shared 18th birthday a few months before that. They were ready to step out into the world, but these two couldn't quite let go.

Down by the creek, the world softened. That heat--hellish, wet, clinging--pressed down like a judgment, making everything slow. Dragonflies hung like prayers in the air, wings trembling. Cicadas screamed their lazy agony from the trees, and the sky above split itself into layers of bleached-out blue. The creek ran low, more of a stubborn shimmer now, slipping over stones that had learned to take the sun. The mud smelled alive. The leaves above barely rustled. It was one of those southern days where even God didn't move.

The two of them had wandered off without saying much. Everybody else was back at the house--coolers cracked open, cigarettes burning low, music and laughter and boys who had no clue what they weren't getting. Mae and Candy had gone where it was quieter, where you had to listen to understand anything at all. They sat with their bare legs pressed into the damp grass, knees bent just enough, trying not to look at each other too hard.

Mae--blonde, freckled, sunburnt around the collarbones--wore a white tank top that stuck to her skin. Flat-chested, lean like a boy but with that nervous, electric edge that made her body different now. Her denim shorts rode high, frayed at the edges, pockets threatening to spill out the bottom. Her hair was up, messy and damp, a few strands stuck to her neck. She'd cut it short last fall in what she claimed wasn't a rebellion. Her lips were chapped, bitten. She kept fidgeting with a rock between her fingers, but she wasn't looking at the creek.

Candy had red hair pulled into a thick, wild ponytail, the kind that bounced when she got mad. Her tank top was green, stretched tight across the swell of her chest--more than a handful, always had been, and she knew it. She sat back on her hands, legs open a little too wide, like she didn't care who saw, even if it was just Mae. Her shorts were rolled up higher than necessary. Freckles dotted her thighs, but her eyes were sharp beneath the shade. Watching. Not saying anything yet.

They hadn't talked about it. Not really. Not when Candy kissed her that night on the back porch after graduation and then laughed like it was a joke. Not when Mae didn't laugh. Not when Mae kissed her back two days later, down by the same creek, and then ran off barefoot and trembling.

Now they were here again. Same place. Same fuckin' heat. Same ache that kept getting heavier. Something had to give.

Mae sat cross-legged now, heels pressed into the dirt, staring at the water like it owed her an answer. "You ever think," she said, voice barely above a breath, "we oughta just say it?"

Candy didn't move at first. Just blinked slow, her lashes heavy with heat and the weight of what she knew was coming. Then she laughed--not loud, not cruel, but raw. "Say what, Mae?"

Mae looked at her. Really looked. At Candy's knees all scraped up from somewhere, probably the fence near the back barn. At her hands, sunk into the grass like roots. At her chest, rising slow, falling slower. And her mouth. That mouth. The one that had made a mess of her insides for months now.

"You know what."

Candy didn't smile, not now. Just cocked her head, letting the sun catch in the gold hoops dangling from her ears. Her tank top stuck to her, outlining everything--round breasts pushed up against the fabric, sweat beading in the dip between them. She shifted, just a little, and the cotton pulled tighter.

"Mae." Her voice was quieter now. Serious. "If I say it, we can't go back."

Mae's mouth twisted, unsure if it wanted to smile or cry. "We ain't been back since May," she said. "Not since you kissed me and ran off like I was a damn fire."

Candy licked her lips--nervous, this time. Real. Her thighs tensed, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I didn't run 'cause I didn't want it. I ran 'cause I did."

That hit Mae like a slap. She felt her stomach drop, flutter, turn traitor. The heat wasn't just heat anymore--it was rising, pressing from the inside out, curling around her ribs like a secret.

"I can't keep pretending you don't fuckin' ruin me every time you look at me," Mae whispered. "I can't keep sittin' in the same room as you and pretending I don't wanna crawl into your lap and--"

Candy surged forward. One movement. One breath.

"Then don't."

Mae froze.

Candy was close now. Not touching, but close. One inch and they'd be past the point of no return. One inch and they'd never be "just friends" again. Candy's eyes were wide, like she was daring her to back out. But her hands were fists in the grass. Like she didn't trust herself if she reached.

Mae breathed out slow, then lifted her chin. "Kiss me again," she said. "But this time, mean it."

Candy moved like gravity had given her permission.

And oh, she meant it.

Candy's mouth crashed into hers like it had been waiting all summer--hot and urgent, too much teeth, too much want, and Mae didn't care. Didn't flinch. She opened for her like she'd been aching to, hands grabbing fistfuls of Candy's tank top, pulling until their teeth knocked and their lips smeared. It wasn't perfect. It was messy, desperate, like they might never get the chance again.

Candy pulled back just enough to breathe, her voice a rasp, eyes blown wide. "You taste like river water and bad decisions."

Mae grinned, flushed and trembling. "You like bad decisions."

"Love 'em," Candy growled, and then she was pushing Mae down into the muddy bank, bracing herself with one hand beside Mae's head. Their bodies were too hot, too slick with sweat, skin sticking where it touched. Candy's knee slotted between Mae's thighs and stayed there, not moving--just a weight, a suggestion.

Mae arched, hips twitching. "Shit," she muttered, eyes fluttering. "I've never..."

"I know." Candy's voice was lower now, steadier than Mae felt she had any right to be. "Me neither."

Mae laughed, shaky. "Don't sound like it."

"Fake it 'til you fuck me," Candy murmured, kissing the edge of Mae's jaw, and then her throat, slow and open-mouthed, leaving wet heat in her wake. "Ain't that the saying?"

Mae let her head drop back into the grass, trying not to writhe. "You're such a fuckin' show-off."

"I'm nervous as hell, actually." Candy slid her hand under Mae's tank top. Her palm was hot, shaking a little as it brushed Mae's ribs. "But I've thought about this too many times to stop now."

Mae bit her lip, hard. "You--? Wait. You've thought about it?"

Candy's hand stilled. "Mae. I nearly fall over 'cause of your goddamn collarbones."

That broke something wide open. Mae reached up, grabbed Candy by the sides of her face, and kissed her again--slower this time, deeper. More sure. They shifted together like puzzle pieces finally clicking.

Candy's hand moved higher. Hesitating. Fingers trembling just beneath Mae's nonexistent bra. "Can I...?"

Mae nodded, whispering, "Please," like it hurt.

When Candy's fingers finally touched her, Mae sucked in a breath. Candy didn't grope--she held her. Reverent. Gentle. Thumb grazing the soft, flat plane like it mattered.

Mae nearly cried. "You're not disappointed?"

Candy looked down at her like she was the goddamn sun. "I'm not here for titties, Mae. I'm here for you."

And that--that--made Mae whimper, pulling Candy down until their foreheads pressed together. "I wanna touch you too."

"You can." Candy's voice was thick now. "I--shit--I want you to."

Mae's hand crept under the green tank, found soft, warm weight. She cupped it in her palm, felt the shift of Candy's breath, the sharp intake as her thumb grazed the nipple. It hardened instantly, and Candy groaned, pressing down against Mae's thigh.

"Oh fuck," Candy breathed, voice breaking. "Mae, I'm--this is--Jesus."

Mae giggled, drunk on power and panic both. "You're kinda falling apart."

"I am apart. You did that."

Their hips were grinding now--clumsy, clothed, but more than enough. Candy's denim scraped Mae's thigh, and Mae rolled her hips up to meet her, both of them gasping, sweating, losing any sense of shame.

"God," Candy muttered, "if I come like this I'm never gonna live it down."

Mae laughed, breathless, "You better. Or I'm gonna feel real fucking cheated."

Candy kissed her again--messy and deep and full of promise. "Mae?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Mae's whole body stilled. A beat. Two.

Then she smiled, shaking, eyes glassy. "Good. 'Cause I've been in love with your dumb, hot ass since sophomore year."

Candy buried her face in Mae's neck. "We're so fucked."

"Yeah," Mae whispered. "But in the good way."

They came together a few minutes later, still half-dressed, still laughing, still talking. And maybe nothing had made sense before--but this did.

This made perfect, sweaty, ridiculous sense.

Mae reached for the hem of her tank top with fingers that wouldn't quite stop shaking.

She hesitated.

Not because she didn't want to--but because it mattered now. Because when she pulled that shirt off, there'd be no more pretending, no more hiding behind banter or half-drunk kisses in the dark. It wasn't a joke. Not now.

She peeled it off slowly anyway, cotton clinging to her damp skin. The straps caught on her shoulders, and she pushed them down one at a time, until the tank was a crumpled ghost beside her in the grass.

And then she was bare. Just skin and freckles and the smallest swell of chest, two tight little nipples flushed pink from heat and nerves. Her breath caught in her throat like it didn't know what to do now.

Candy didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't even blink.

She looked at Mae like she'd never seen her before. Like everything up until this moment had been shadows, outlines, pencil sketches--and now the colors had bled in, all at once, too vivid, too sharp.

"You're..." Candy breathed, swallowing hard. "Fuck."

Mae almost covered herself on instinct, arms twitching before she forced them still. "Say something."

"I am," Candy whispered. "You just don't know how loud it is."

Mae's lips parted, heart slamming so hard it hurt. Candy wasn't looking at her chest like it was something to be compared or judged. She was looking at Mae like she was a revelation. Like something sacred. Like--

"Is it weird that I wanna cry a little?" Candy said, barely managing a smile.

Mae nodded, eyes shining. "Not if I do first."

Candy leaned in--slow, reverent, mouth parted. Her hand brushed up Mae's side, fingers trembling, until she cupped the underside of one small breast and just held it there like she was learning the shape of it for the first time.

"You're mine," Candy said, so soft it was almost nothing. "Aren't you?"

Mae didn't look away. "Yeah. I've been yours."

Candy kissed her--lower this time, right on the slope of her chest, just below the nipple. Mae made a sound like she'd been cracked open, hips arching up without permission. Candy's mouth moved higher, a flick of tongue against sensitive skin, and Mae gasped like the world had shifted.

There was no undoing it. No pretending this hadn't happened.

Candy's lips brushed her nipple, warm and careful and fucking tender, and Mae broke--moaning, high and shocked, her hands flying to Candy's hair, her spine bowing off the grass.

"Jesus, Candy..."

Candy looked up, lips slick, eyes wild. "I'm gonna ruin you so good."

Mae pulled her back down, laughing and crying and shaking. "Please."

Candy stripped her shorts like they were nothing--no shame, no hesitation, just peeled them down those long, freckled legs and kicked them into the grass like the heat demanded it. Her panties came next, pale cotton damp and clinging, and Mae's breath hitched hard in her throat.

Jesus.

She'd seen Candy before, at sleepovers, in swimsuits, changing behind the barn after diving into the pond. But not like this. Not open. Not like she was offering something.

Candy leaned over her again, all warm skin and flushed cheeks, her thighs settling between Mae's. "You okay?" she asked, low and careful, like maybe she'd gone too fast.

Mae just stared, lips parted, hand already reaching for the curve of Candy's hip like she didn't trust it would stay if she didn't hold on. "You're unreal," she whispered. "I mean... I knew you were hot. But fuck."

Candy smirked, cocky and nervous at once. "You're not so bad yourself, flat-chest."

Mae slapped her arm, laughing, then bit her lip. "Come here."

And Candy did--mouth trailing lower this time, down Mae's stomach, over the soft, tense line where denim met skin. Mae lifted her hips before she even knew she was doing it, helping Candy tug her shorts down, her underwear with them. Her whole body felt like it was buzzing, skin humming like a live wire, nerves on fire.

When Candy's tongue finally touched her--just a soft, wet flick--Mae forgot how to breathe.

"Oh my God."

Candy grinned against her, licking slow, dragging it up the length of her slit before circling her clit with aching precision.

The world cracked.

Mae's back arched off the dirt. Her hands flew into Candy's hair, gripping like she'd fall out of orbit without the anchor. "How the fuck are you this good?" she gasped, thighs quaking. "You said you'd never--fuck, Candy--you liar."

"Mmm." Candy's tongue pressed harder, firmer now, rhythmic. She didn't answer. She didn't need to. Her hands gripped Mae's thighs, thumbs digging in, keeping her spread and still and helpless to the way it felt.

The creek gurgled quietly nearby.

The house? Gone. The barn? Never existed. Alabama? Who the fuck was she?

It was just this now. Just her. Mae and the sky and the dirt and the sweat and Candy's mouth ruining her completely, slow and patient like she wanted to break her best friend open and live inside the wreckage.

Mae moaned, wild, eyes slammed shut. "I can't--Candy--I'm--"

Candy didn't stop.

Didn't slow.

Just pushed deeper, tongue curling, pressure building until Mae screamed--not loud, but real, raw, from the bottom of her spine to the tips of her toes. Her whole body seized like it had forgotten how to exist outside of this moment. And when she came, she didn't just fall apart.

She shattered.

When Candy finally kissed her way back up, lips slick, grin smug, Mae was still shaking. Eyes glassy, lips swollen, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

Candy tucked hair behind Mae's ear. "Still think I'm faking it?"

Mae laughed through tears. "No," she whispered. "You're the realest fucking thing I've ever known."

Mae was shaking again--but not from fear. Not entirely. It was awe, it was the weight of this, it was Candy lying back in the grass, thighs parted, skin flushed, hair wild, nipples still hard from earlier. Her tank top was shoved up around her collarbones, her freckles everywhere, and between her legs--god. Mae stared.

Red hair, soaked through. Slick and glistening like heat had melted her. The soft folds parted slightly, wet and open, a flush of pink lost in curls the color of fire and trouble and first times.

Mae licked her lips, frozen between reverence and ache. "Candy..."

Candy looked down, eyes dark with something older than eighteen, older than both of them. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Mae breathed. "That's the problem."

She crawled forward, heart a thunderclap, lips parted like maybe she'd forget how to breathe once she started. Her hands settled on Candy's thighs, thumbs stroking upward, feeling the tremble there. Candy was trying not to squirm, but her whole body was singing--needing.

Mae kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, slow and careful. Candy exhaled like it was killing her. "Mae..."

"There's only one first time," Mae said, lips brushing so close Candy shuddered. "I wanna get it right."

Candy's hand tangled in Mae's hair. "Just be with me."

So Mae let go. She leaned in, mouth hovering over the heart of her. The smell was sharp, sweet, real--sex and summer and the truth between them, finally exposed.

Her first kiss was soft. Uncertain. A press of lips to wet heat. Then another. And when Candy moaned--really moaned--Mae parted her lips and let her tongue trace upward, slow and shaky but wanting.

"Oh--fuck." Candy's back arched. Her hips twitched, thighs squeezing Mae's shoulders as her hand tightened in that blonde hair. "Mae, that's--oh my God."

Mae looked up just long enough to say, "Good?" with a crooked little grin.

Candy laughed like she might cry. "Keep going or I'll die."

So she did.

Mae explored, slow at first--tasting, licking, figuring out what made Candy gasp and twist and curse. And then faster, more sure, guided by instinct and desperation and the taste of her best friend's slick arousal coating her tongue.

Candy writhed.

Mae moaned into her, helpless and high on the mess she was making.

When Candy came--loud, sobbing her name, legs locking around her like a vice--Mae held her through it, mouth still moving, wanting to ride it out until every last tremble stopped.

And then silence.

Just the creek. Just the heat.

Mae lifted her head, face flushed, mouth glistening. She looked up like she'd seen God and tasted her.

Candy's eyes were glassy. Her voice was ruined. "You got it right," she whispered.

Mae laid beside her, breathless. "Yeah," she said, smiling slow. "I fucking did."

The air hadn't cooled a damn degree, but it felt different now. Softer. Like the world had taken a long breath and held it for them.

Candy lay back in the grass for a minute longer, legs still splayed, chest still rising and falling like the whole thing might've just been a dream that set her on fire. Her hair was a mess. Her thighs were sticky. Her freckles looked brighter in the sun, like they'd been turned up a notch by sex and sweat and the raw burn of being wanted--really wanted.

Mae sat up slow, brushing grass from her elbows, dirt smudged on her hip. Her tank top was inside-out, half tangled with a bra she hadn't even bothered putting on. She smiled down at it, then looked at Candy and laughed--giddy, breathless, still riding something that had nothing to do with gravity.

"That was..." she started.

Candy gave her a lazy grin. "Yeah."

"Like, actually..."

"I know."

They giggled then, both of them--dumb, girlish, punch-drunk laughter that didn't stop even as they started grabbing for their clothes. Mae held her panties in her hand for a second, turning them over, pink cotton gone darker with slick. "Well," she muttered, smirking, "guess these are done for."

Candy bit her lip. "Keep 'em. Trophy."

"You freak."

Candy just winked.

Mae pulled her shorts on, hips wriggling, the denim sticking in places it hadn't stuck before. She hissed, laughing. "Goddamn, I'm sore."

Candy rolled onto her side, watching her. Still naked, still glowing like she'd swallowed the sun. "Good. You should be."

Mae flushed, looking away but not really meaning it. She tugged her tank top on, still bare underneath. When she turned around, Candy was finally slipping her panties back on--slow, deliberate, like she wanted Mae to watch.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?" Mae asked.

Candy's smile turned sly. "Nope."

And then she stood, pulling her shorts up with a little hop, then letting her top fall back over her chest. Her nipples were still hard beneath the fabric, but she didn't hide them. Didn't care.

They looked at each other then--really looked.

Not as friends. Not as girls who'd almost kissed once, or who used to sleep in the same bed during thunderstorms. But as something else now.

Something claimed.

Candy stepped close, just enough that their bare legs brushed. "You're mine now, you know that?"

Mae's breath caught. Her smile faltered, but it didn't fade. "Yeah," she whispered. "And you're mine."

Candy nodded like it was a contract. Like the papers had been signed in sweat and sound.

And as they walked back toward the house--muddy, sticky, sunburnt, aching--they weren't two girls anymore.

They were each other's.

2007

Betsy knew something was wrong the second she stepped onto the porch.

Not wrong like somebody died. Not wrong like a fight or a spill or a busted pipe. Just... off. Like the air had shifted when she wasn't looking. Like the house had taken a breath and held it.

Mae was in the kitchen, bare feet scuffing tile, a little too pink in the cheeks. She had that look--guilty, jittery, all twisted up behind the eyes, like a cat with a stolen bird feather still stuck to her tongue. Candy was leaning against the fridge, arms crossed, smirking like she knew something she wasn't supposed to say.

And God help her, Betsy could read it like a billboard.

"Hey," she said, letting the screen door slam behind her. "Why's it smell like sin in here?"

Mae jumped. Actually jumped. "What? Nothing--just, we went down to the creek--"

"Jesus, Mae, again?" Betsy dropped her keys on the counter and raised an eyebrow. "You two got gills now?"

Candy snorted. "It's hot. Not our fault your old-ass bones can't take the sun."

"I'm twenty-five, Candy, not ninety-five," Betsy said flatly, but there was no bite in it. Just an undertone, something low and assessing, like she was watching a puzzle solve itself.

Mae wouldn't meet her eyes. She was opening a Coke. It hissed like it was nervous too.

Betsy looked between them.

Candy's hair was wet--dripping, actually. Not like she'd towel-dried or even wrung it out. Just hanging in thick, tangled clumps down her back, soaking into the neckline of her green tank top. Her skin was flushed, and there was a streak of dirt smudged high on her thigh. Mae had grass in her hair. Grass. And her tank top--white, of course--was clinging in all the wrong places. No bra. Red around the collarbones like she'd been scrubbed a little too hard.

It clicked.

Betsy blinked once, slow.

Candy met her eyes.

That was it. That was the moment. That three-second silence where Candy knew Betsy knew, and Betsy knew she knew, and Mae was still trying to pretend this was about swimming and not fucking.

"Well," Betsy said, popping the cap off a beer she hadn't planned on needing. "Ain't that a goddamn thing."

Mae looked up, startled. "What?"

"You," Betsy said, pointing with the bottle, "and her."

Candy raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope," Betsy said, taking a long pull. "Just watching my baby sister light her whole life on fire for a girl who used to make mud pies and threaten to marry her horse."

Candy smirked. "That horse was loyal."

Mae groaned, slapping a hand over her face. "Oh my God."

Betsy leaned back against the counter. "So. You wanna tell me, or should I guess?"

"There's nothing to tell," Mae mumbled, but her ears were red now.

"You're glowing like someone set off a vibrator in a beehive, Mae. Don't lie to me."

Candy burst out laughing, then immediately covered her mouth. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Mae looked like she wanted the linoleum to swallow her whole.

Betsy softened. Just a little. "Hey. I'm not mad."

Mae looked up, eyes wide. "You're not?"

"Course not." Betsy sighed. "You think I didn't know?"

Candy blinked. "Wait. What?"

"Don't act shocked, ginger," Betsy said.

Candy opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Fair."

Mae looked between them, horrified and touched and defensive all at once. "So what, you knew and didn't say anything?"

"Of course I knew." Betsy took another sip. "I was just waiting to see if it was real or if y'all were just bored and horny and high on summer."

Mae flinched like she'd been slapped. "It's not--"

"I didn't say it was." Betsy's voice softened. "I said I wanted to see. That's different."

Candy stepped forward, just slightly. Protective now. "It is real."

Betsy met her eyes again. And this time, it wasn't a glare. It was a warning wrapped in affection. "Then you better act like it."

Candy nodded. "I do."

Mae's voice cracked. "I love her."

There it was. Out loud. Ugly and beautiful and aching.

Betsy inhaled slowly. Set the bottle down. "Okay."

Mae blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay." Betsy stepped forward, tugged Mae into a hug. "Just don't make me kick her ass later."

Mae let out a choked laugh into her sister's shoulder.

Behind them, Candy muttered, "I'd let her. Honestly."

Betsy looked over Mae's head. "Damn right you would."

And just like that, the house breathed again.

Not fixed. Not perfect. But settled.

Because Betsy had seen what she needed to see. Mae wasn't just glowing--she was lit. And Candy wasn't just smirking--she was scared. Scared in the way people get when they finally want something bad enough to lose it.

Betsy stepped back and looked at both of them. "Y'all need to be careful."

"We will," Mae whispered.

Candy nodded. "We are."

Betsy pointed to the fridge. "Good. Now get me a beer, and somebody tell me who tracked creek mud through my fuckin' hallway."

2008

It was nearly 1 a. m. when Candy crept down the stairs.

The house was still--old, wood-framed still, not city still. It had that Tyler quiet, where the cicadas never quite shut up, and the porch groaned like it was dreaming. The fridge clicked softly as it hummed to life. A floorboard popped behind her, but it was just the house settling, not a ghost. Or so she hoped.

Candy was barefoot, tank top inside out, tiny pair of flannel shorts that rode up with every step. Her hair was wild from sleep and sex and the humidity--half braided, half chaos, and all hers. She moved like someone used to sneaking. Used to slipping out of rooms she didn't belong in.

She opened the fridge, blinked into the cold, and reached for a Coke. The glass bottle clinked against another as she pulled it free.

Then she turned.

And there was Betsy.

Sitting in the goddamn dark at the kitchen table like some kind of backwoods assassin. One leg crossed over the other, arms folded, a mug in front of her that probably wasn't just coffee. Her nails tapped slow against the ceramic. She didn't smile.

Candy startled like she'd been shot. "Jesus fucking Christ, Betsy--"

"Language," Betsy murmured. "You're in my house."

Candy blinked. "Technically it's Mae's--"

"I will gut you."

Candy shut up.

Silence settled between them. Not cruel, not cold. Just... sharp. Like they were playing a game neither of them wanted to admit was happening.

Finally, Candy cleared her throat. "Couldn't sleep."

"Figured."

"Didn't think anyone'd be up."

Betsy raised her eyebrows, just slightly. "I'm a doctor, Candy. I don't sleep like normal people."

Candy shifted her weight. Cracked the Coke open. "Right."

"You fucked her tonight?"

The question hit like a slap.

Candy didn't choke--but she didn't quite recover smoothly either. "That's not--"

"It's a yes or no, baby," Betsy said calmly. "Don't waste my time."

Candy exhaled through her nose. Steady. Grounded. She didn't look away. "Yeah. We did."

Betsy nodded. No outrage. No judgment. Just that unreadable calm, the kind you only learn from spending years telling mothers their children aren't going to make it.

She sipped from her mug. "She's never had anyone."

Candy's voice softened. "I know."

"She doesn't know what she wants yet."

Candy looked down at her Coke. "Maybe. But I do."

"I'm not worried about you getting hurt."

"I know that too."

More silence.

The kitchen clock ticked like it was watching. The fridge clicked off. Somewhere upstairs, the air shifted--just enough to remind them Mae was dreaming, vulnerable, a whole world away in sleep and trust and the heat of shared sheets.

Betsy set her mug down.

"I've seen the way she looks at you," she said finally. "It scares the shit out of me."

Candy swallowed. "It scares me too."

"She's fragile."

"No she's not." Candy's voice rose a notch. "She feels big. That's not the same."

Betsy tilted her head, assessing.

"You love her?" she asked.

Candy nodded. "Yeah."

"You in love with her?"

The breath Candy took was long and slow. She leaned back against the counter. "I've loved her since she tied a friendship bracelet on my wrist when we were ten and told me it meant forever."

Betsy blinked.

"I didn't know what that meant then," Candy continued, voice low, steady. "But I do now."

The house felt warmer somehow.

"I'd cut my fucking arm off before I let her down," Candy added.

Betsy looked at her for a long time. The kind of look that could scrape someone raw if they weren't honest. Then she nodded, just once, and stood.

"Okay."

Candy blinked. "Okay?"

Betsy stepped close. Not threatening. Just present. Just big-sister gravity, the kind that made the world tilt a little.

"You hurt her," she said, low and deadly, "and I will make you wish you never learned how to walk."

Candy nodded. "Fair."

Betsy studied her one more second, then did something unexpected.

She reached out and tugged Candy's wild braid loose. Gently.

"Fix your hair," she muttered. "You look like a possum tried to start a family in there."

Candy laughed, breathless. "Thanks, Mom."

Betsy rolled her eyes. "I'm going to bed."

She walked to the stairs, then paused halfway up.

"Hey, Candy?"

Candy looked up.

"Don't make me be right about you."

Candy stood there a moment after she left, Coke bottle sweating in her hand, heart pounding.

Then she whispered, "I won't."

And she meant it.

2008, again

The moving truck was already half-loaded. A mattress wrapped in plastic. A few boxes labeled in Betsy's neat, all-caps handwriting--TEXTBOOKS, DISHES, SHOES/COFFEE. The air smelled like dust and sunburn and old cardboard. Mama had cried already. Daddy had offered to fix the AC in Betsy's new apartment in Mobile, like he could patch the distance with duct tape and good intentions.

But Mae hadn't said much.

Until now.

They sat on the front steps, just the two of them. The sun was low, pushing shadows long across the yard. Betsy had her white coat folded in her lap--ironed, starched, still too new to feel real. Her keys jingled in her hand like they were daring her to go.

Mae picked at the hem of her cutoff shorts. Her nails were painted blue. Chipped all to hell.

"You really leavin'?" she asked finally, not looking up.

Betsy exhaled. "Yeah."

"Like, really really."

"Mae."

Mae's lip twitched. Not a smile. Not quite. "I know. Just... thought maybe if I said it enough times it'd stop being true."

Betsy bumped her knee against hers. "It's not forever."

"It feels like forever."

They sat in it for a second. That heavy hush. The kind that only shows up when goodbye is so close you can taste it.

Betsy looked at her baby sister. Really looked. Freckles just starting to darken from the sun. Tank top loose at the collarbone. A little sharper around the jaw these days, a little taller. Same big eyes, though. Same mess of emotion she never could quite hide.

"You'll visit," Mae said, more question than statement.

"You know I will."

"And call?"

"Every goddamn day if you want me to."

Mae nodded. Swallowed. "You gonna be a real doctor when you get there?"

Betsy laughed, soft. "Technically I'm already one. Residency's just where they make sure I don't kill anyone."

"That's comforting."

"Don't get sick, then."

Mae laughed, and it cracked on the end like something had broken inside it.

Betsy reached over. Took her hand. Held it.

"I'm proud of you," Mae said, voice trembling.

Betsy squeezed. "That's my line."

Mae looked down at their hands. Her thumb traced the knuckles--this anchor, this tether she wasn't ready to let go of. "You're gonna be the best damn doctor Alabama's ever seen."

Betsy smirked. "Not stayin' in Alabama forever, Mae."

Mae's eyes flicked up. "Where then?"

"Wherever they need me."

Mae nodded. Bit her lip. Then, quieter: "What if I need you?"

Betsy went still.

Then she pulled Mae into her arms.

"You have me," she whispered into her hair. "Always. Doesn't matter how far."

Mae held on tight. Fingers digging into Betsy's back like she could stop time with pressure. Her breath hitched. She didn't cry--but only just.

Betsy pulled back, kissed her forehead, and smiled. "You're gonna be okay. You're the strongest person I know."

Mae shook her head. "No I'm not."

"You just don't see it yet."

They stood together as the sun slipped lower. The truck door slammed. Their mama called something from inside. But they didn't move.

Betsy glanced toward the barn. Toward the path that curved down to the creek. "You talk to Candy lately?"

Mae went still.

Betsy didn't press. Just nodded. "You're gonna figure it out. Whatever that is."

Mae didn't answer. Just leaned her head against Betsy's shoulder, and for a little while, they stood in the kind of silence only sisters understand.

Later that night, when the truck taillights disappeared down the long gravel road, Mae sat back on the porch steps, knees to her chest, watching the fireflies come up.

She didn't cry until she saw the white coat--left behind on the swing, folded too neat.

A reminder.

A promise.

And proof that even if Betsy wasn't here, she still belonged here.

2011

The house is just bones--frames and studs, plywood floors, a porch that creaks like it's asking permission to exist. There's no siding yet, no paint, no insulation to hold off the swelter. Just raw lumber, nails, and the smell of sawdust tangled in honeysuckle.

Mae stands at the edge of what will be their porch, arms folded across her chest, one foot bare, the other still in a flip-flop she hasn't bothered kicking off. The light's gone amber and soft, that in-between time when the sky blushes and the fireflies start testing their glow.

She looks at the creek.

At that spot along the bank. The one where she said "Please" with her whole damn body. The one where Candy licked her clean open and left her crying from how much it meant. The one where their entire goddamn lives started--not legally, not publicly, but really.

And it hits her.

Every time.

Candy's inside, somewhere in the mess of tools and framing, fiddling with a flashlight that keeps dying, swearing under her breath about batteries and bullshit. But Mae? She's frozen.

You can see it in her eyes.

That distant shimmer, that break in her focus. Her lip twitches like she's almost about to smile, or almost about to cry, and maybe she doesn't know which. Her eyes linger on that muddy curve of earth like it's sacred ground.

She doesn't say anything when Candy steps out and leans against the unfinished doorframe.

"You're looking at it again," Candy says, voice soft, already smiling.

Mae nods. Doesn't try to hide it. "I always do."

Candy walks up behind her, slips her arms around her waist, presses her chin to Mae's shoulder.

"That spot's ours," she murmurs. "Even when this whole place falls down one day. That bank'll still be there. Waiting."

Mae exhales, slow. Lets herself lean back into Candy's chest. "You think about it too?"

Candy kisses her temple. "Every fuckin' time."

And they stand there--few walls, no furniture, just sky and sawdust and memory thick as heat. Two girls who once belonged to the wild, now trying to build something that could hold it all without breaking.

Candy'd been sneaking out to the house after work for three days straight, playing it cool, playing it casual--"Just makin' sure the roof ain't leakin' again," she'd said, or "Gotta check if they left the nails out where we could step on 'em." Mae had barely looked up from her crossword, grunting something noncommittal, trusting her. She always did.

But Candy'd been plotting.

Not just candles--though there were candles. Not just the thrifted quilt she'd snuck from Mae's mama's linen closet--though that was spread out too, floral and ridiculous and soft from years of washing. She'd brought pillows, a couple old ones from their trailer days that still smelled like dryer sheets and dog hair. She'd dragged in a folding chair just to sit Mae on it for a second while she looked at her. And yes--there was a harness. Black. Worn leather. Well-loved.

Evil, Candy had said with a grin. And proud of it.

Now, it's dark. The house creaks and moans with wind through the unfinished rafters, and they're both barefoot, standing in the skeleton of what will be their bedroom. Four walls of possibility, no doors, no windows yet--just space. A raw hush wrapped around a secret.

Mae stands at the threshold, eyebrows up. "What the hell is this?"

Candy leans in, cocky, smug, dangerous. "It's yours." Her hand skims Mae's hip, guiding her in. "We're gonna live here. So I figured we should fuck in it first."

The candles flicker, casting shadows across the plywood. The harness lies coiled beside the quilt like a promise. And Mae just stares--caught between laughter and lust, biting her bottom lip so hard it turns white.

"You set this up?"

Candy shrugs, like it was nothing. "Wanted our ghosts in the floorboards."

Mae turns slowly, still stunned. "You're actually evil."

"Yep." Candy steps close. "And you're mine. Now get on the fuckin' blanket."

Mae moves.

God help her, she moves.

Mae's shirt ends up balled under her head like a makeshift pillow. Candy's knee knocks a paint can over trying to crawl between her thighs. There's dirt on her ass, sawdust stuck to her calves. The harness doesn't slide on smooth--it clunks, buckle snagging as she wrestles it up with a muttered curse and a grin so smug it lights Mae up from the inside.

And Mae? She's got that look again. The one where her eyes go wet but not from pain, where she bites her lip like she doesn't know whether to sob or beg. Like being taken by someone who knows every inch of her soul is the closest thing to divinity.

Candy fucks her like she's building something--not just pleasure but memory, legacy, foundation. The thrusts aren't perfect. They're honest. Hot, deep, soaked with sweat and want and twenty years of knowing how to ruin each other just right.

There's laughter. Snorts. Gasps. Mae slapping Candy's arm for saying "How's the view from down there?" mid-thrust.

There's also this moment--quiet, crushing--when Candy stills inside her, leans down, nose brushing nose, and whispers, "You're the only home I've ever wanted."

Mae doesn't speak. Just wraps her legs around Candy's waist and holds her there, like she's trying to burn it into her skin.

It's not pretty.

But it is so fucking beautiful.

2015

The porch was already too hot for comfort, but Mae was out there anyway--feet kicked up on the railing, one of Candy's old button-downs hanging off her shoulders like a robe, coffee gone cold in her hand. The cicadas were just starting their slow summer scream, and the creek glittered below like it knew something she didn't.

Inside, the news was on low. Some national anchor talking fast, voice too polished for this corner of the South. Mae wasn't listening. Not really. Just letting the words buzz through the screen door like background noise.

Then the screen banged open, and Candy was there.

She didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, barefoot in cutoffs, tank top clinging, phone shaking in her hand. Her hair was half-wet, frizzy from the heat, and her mouth was open like the words were stuck somewhere between disbelief and wildfire.

Mae looked up, squinting against the sun. "What?"

Candy's voice cracked. "They did it."

Mae blinked. "Did what?"

Candy stepped forward like she was in a dream. "The Court. Supreme Court. Just announced it. It's done. It's ours, Mae. Everywhere. Alabama, too."

Mae sat up straighter, the porch swing creaking under her. "You serious?"

Candy's face broke wide open. Like a storm giving way to sky. "We can get married. For real. Right here. Right fuckin' now."

Mae didn't move for a second. Just stared. Then set the coffee down without looking, stood, and walked up to her like the ground was brand-new beneath her feet.

Candy was already crying, goddamn it. Wiping at her face like she didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

Mae kissed her.

Slow. Solid. Pressed her forehead against Candy's and whispered:

"Get the dresses."

2015, again

The music was still going--something country, something soft--but the two of them had wandered off toward the edge of the barn, where the string lights thinned and the grass felt cooler underfoot. Their dresses dragged just enough to pick up the earth. It didn't matter. They weren't trying to stay clean.

Candy leaned against a wooden post, beer sweating in her hand, curls pinned and curling wild anyway. Her gown wasn't traditional--ivory, yeah, but only because Mae had said fuck white, that's for purity and virgins and I ain't ever been either. The bodice hugged her close, hips soft beneath satin that caught the light like a secret. Boots on her feet, of course. No heels. She'd threatened violence if anyone tried to make her wear them.

Mae was next to her, shoulder to shoulder, gown hiked up just enough to keep it from dragging, one boot-clad foot braced against the barn wall. Her hair was pinned back loose, a flower tucked behind one ear--no veil, no tiara, no bullshit. She looked like she'd walked out of a Southern Gothic painting and decided to ruin every man's expectations on the way. Her lips were stained with lipstick long since kissed off, her face glowing with sweat and something softer than victory. Something that looked like peace.

They clinked bottles without looking.

"Well," Candy said, tilting her head toward the crowd. "Nobody's started a fistfight yet. I'd say it's goin' better than expected."

Mae snorted. "Give it twenty more minutes. Aunt Jo's already had three glasses of champagne and she's eyein' Mama like she wants to drag up prom night drama."

Candy grinned. "If she brings up the corsage again I will throw her in the creek."

Mae took a long pull from her beer, then sighed. Her shoulders dropped. Not from exhaustion--more like release. Like something she'd been holding for years had finally let go.

Candy saw it. Felt it.

"You okay?" she asked, a little quieter now.

Mae didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the bottle in her hand like it might hold something useful.

Then: "Yeah." Her voice was soft. Real. "I'm better than okay."

Candy turned to face her fully. "Yeah?"

Mae looked up. Her eyes were shining, but she wasn't crying. Not yet. "Yeah. It's just... I never thought we'd get to do this. Not really."

Candy swallowed. "I know."

"Even after you asked, even after we got the license--I kept waiting for somebody to stop it. Like someone was gonna jump up and say y'all can't do this, this ain't real."

Candy stepped in close. Pressed their foreheads together. Her beer stayed at her side, forgotten. "It is real."

"I know," Mae whispered. "That's what scares me."

Candy kissed the tip of her nose. "Nothing's scary anymore. You got me."

Mae laughed, quiet and wet. "Yeah. I do."

They stood like that for a minute. Just breathing the same breath. The barn buzzing with distant voices, glasses clinking, someone hollering for more deviled eggs. But here, in their corner of the world, it was still.

Their rings were plain gold, but Candy's was already scratched. She liked it that way. Said it made it feel lived-in. Mae's sat snug between her knuckles, catching the light when she lifted her hand to brush hair from Candy's cheek.

"You know," Candy said, cocking an eyebrow, "I was ready to run again."

Mae smiled, crooked and knowing. "I know. You stayed."

Candy shrugged. "Didn't have anywhere else to be."

"That's a lie."

"Yeah," she admitted. "But it's a good one."

They kissed--slow, steady, mouths tasting like cheap beer and forever.

When they pulled apart, Mae exhaled like it was the first breath she'd trusted in years. "You're not gonna leave me, are you?"

Candy tilted her head, eyes warm and sharp. "Only way I'm leaving is if you bury me in that field out back."

"Under the magnolia?"

"Fuckin' right."

Mae laughed, then bit her bottom lip, eyes dancing. "What if I die first?"

Candy squeezed her hip. "Then I'll haunt your ass."

"Promise?"

"Swear on this dumb, beautiful, redneck life we built."

Mae's smile widened. "Good. I want a ghost who'll do the dishes."

"Bitch, you're already the ghost who doesn't do dishes."

They burst out laughing, breathless and stupid and full of something ancient--earned love. The kind you don't get from first glances or fairy tales. The kind you fight for. Fuck for. Stay for.

A breeze stirred the grass. Mae leaned into Candy's side again, resting her cheek on her shoulder. Their dresses touched, soft and wrinkled and damp with sweat. Two girls in ivory, beer bottles in hand, watching the sun go down on their own damn terms.

"I love you," Mae said, like she didn't need to.

"I know," Candy said, smug and soft and entirely hers.

And then, quieter: "Me too."

They didn't need fireworks.

They had this.

Ivory gowns, cold beer, and each other.

2025

The porch creaked under Mae's feet, just like it always had, warped wood and peeling paint that somehow never bothered her enough to fix. The sun was lazy now, hanging low over the trees, burning gold across the creek like it still remembered what had happened there--really happened--twenty years back.

Mae sat in the swing, Coke in one hand, glass bottle sweating in the heat. She didn't sip it much. Just liked the feel, the ritual. Her legs were bare, feet kicked up on the railing, tank top clinging just a little in the humid dusk.

And there she was.

Candy.

Same wild red hair, now streaked with silver like someone had painted fire with moonlight. Still wearing cutoffs, still stomping like the earth owed her something. Boots half-filled with water, legs dripping, tank top soaked through and braless as ever.

And in her left hand? A stringer of fish, glinting like treasure.

"Jesus, Candy," Mae called, voice lazy-southern and full of the years they'd stacked between them. "You fall in again?"

"Didn't fall," Candy shouted, slipping anyway, nearly busting her ass on a mossy rock before catching herself with a curse. "I wrestled a fuckin' catfish, woman! He tried to eat my boot!"

Mae laughed, head tilted back against the swing chain. "Hope you won. I ain't cookin' no fish that still thinks it's got rights."

Candy stomped up the last of the bank, wet and glorious, victorious in the way only she could be--like nothing in the world had the right to tell her no. She dropped the stringer on the porch with a wet slap and looked up at Mae through the sunset, her cheeks flushed and freckled, eyes sharp and shining.

Mae just looked at her.

And smiled.

The kind of smile that starts slow and soft, not even reaching the mouth at first--just a twitch behind the eyes, the kind of smile that builds up from somewhere old and aching and holy.

Mine, she thought.

Twenty years.

Two decades of laundry and fights and fuckin' and laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. Years of fish dinners and porch swings, cold feet under warm sheets, and the occasional midnight argument that turned into gasping kisses against the kitchen counter.

Candy bent over the fish, muttering, "We're frying 'em tonight. I ain't cleaning no more damn trout," and her shirt dipped low when she did, still clinging in all the right places, and Mae thought--

Still mine.

Always had been. Always would be.

She took a slow sip of Coke, the fizz biting at her tongue, and let the sunset wash over both of them.