Fic: Ways of Going Forward
I used have all of these (rather arbitrary and completely personal) lines about how people had to be a certain level of famous before I would write fic about them, but then The Like happened and ruined everything by being everything I didn't know I'd always wanted in a bandom band. Oh well. What are you gonna do? *hands*
Ways of Going Forward
Charlotte/Tennessee (background Z/Ryan); 5,800 words
PG
Set New Year's Eve! Please ignore that it is now January 18.
Tennessee wants to say "Where have you been?" or maybe just "Fuck you." She takes a deep breath and says, "Sleeping. It's..." she glances at the clock, "3 am. And my birthday was ten days ago."
Thanks to inlovewithnight for responding graciously, supportively and helpfully to my panicked emails, softlyforgotten for audiencing and being so sweet and blindmouse for the beta and the encouragement. You guys are awesome. ♥ ♥ ♥
Cut tag text from The Like's What I Say and What I Mean, (linked just on the off chance that anyone interested in reading this is still unfamiliar with the music. :D!)
Ways of Going Forward
Tennessee doesn't even look at the caller ID when she fumbles for her phone on the nightstand. She's expecting Z, since it's about the time of night when Z and Ryan decide it's a good idea to drunk-dial the world. Or she's expecting Mark, maybe; it's been awhile, but they're still friends and he always did ignore timezones as a lifestyle choice. She mumbles out a barely conscious "Hello?"
"Happy Birthday," Charlotte says. "Hey, have you tried that new all-night vegan diner? They've got this chocolate-hazelnut pie, Tenn, I swear, it will change your life."
Tennessee's heart stops beating and when it starts again it's in her throat and she has trouble choking out words around it. She sits up so fast the world tilts and slides. "Charlotte?"
"What are you doing?" Charlotte's voice is too casual, layered with amusement in a way that's almost mean and definitely desperate, like she's daring Tennessee to admit that it's weird that they haven't spoken for the better part of a year and now they're talking about vegan chocolate pie. Tennessee knows the game; whoever stays the coolest wins. It's not like it's a new game, but Z's the only other person who was ever any good at it.
Tennessee wants to say "Where have you been?" or maybe just "Fuck you." She takes a deep breath and says, "Sleeping. It's..." she glances at the clock, "3 am. And my birthday was ten days ago."
Charlotte pauses and then says, "I know. I'm sorry." Her voice is soft and she sounds like she means it.
That should make Tennessee feel better, but mostly it makes pressure burn hot behind her eyes. She inhales with a shudder, trying to steady her voice. "What do you want, Charlotte?"
She spent months leaving whispered and increasingly anxious and finally just pathetic messages on Charlotte's voicemail. She'd have given just about anything for this call in July, August, September, October. Now it's almost January and she wishes she wasn't so glad to hear Charlotte's voice.
Charlotte pauses and says, "Pie?"
"Pie."
"Yes, let me buy you birthday pie. And coffee. Tennessee, just meet me, please?"
Tennessee waits a beat, pretending like she actually has to consider it, and then says, "Fine, fine, text me the address." She hangs up the phone and sits on the edge of her bed trembling until her head clears enough to get up and get dressed.
*****
Tennessee's first kiss was a boy named Daniel who was the son of a studio musician friend of her father's; he and his family spent the night at Tennessee's house one night and he smiled at her over dinner and kicked her ankle under the table until she looked at him and blushed. She was 15 and embarrassed at her lack of experience, how few friends she had, how little she knew. He was 17 and seemed older. He kissed her out in her backyard, sitting on the edge of the pool with their feet in the water. He knotted one hand in her hair and slid the other just under the hem of her skirt, curling his fingers around her knee and stroking lightly with his thumb along the inside of her leg as he licked into her mouth smooth and easy. It was fine; there were no fireworks, but he didn't push her and it was sweet and she got goosebumps in the warm, summer air.
Charlotte wrinkled her nose when Tennessee told her. Charlotte's first kiss had happened earlier, at some party with some kids from her school that she'd somehow been cajoled into attending and regretted. It was sloppy and unimpressive and Charlotte described it afterward as "gross" and "over."
"What was it like?" Charlotte asked. They were lying on Tennessee's bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"What do you mean?"
Charlotte elbowed Tennessee in the ribs and rolled her eyes when Tennessee turned to look at her, quirking her lips in a hesitant half-smile. "What's it like to kiss a boy who isn't trying to swallow your head?"
Tennessee pushed herself up on one elbow and shrugged. "I don't know. It was nice. It was hot." She raised her eyebrows on the last word, trying for suggestive and playful, but she could feel her face flush. Charlotte looked up at her with wide eyes, smiling for real. She reached out and tapped her fingers against Tennessee's wrist.
"Yeah?"
Tennessee's pulse jumped. She fixed her eyes next to Charlotte's head, where her dark hair was fanned out against the white of the pillow case. She said, "I could show you" before she gave herself enough time to think about it. Charlotte laughed, quick and embarrassed, and threw her hands over her face, mumbling something unintelligible.
Tennessee grabbed her wrist and tugged to pull her hand down and said, "Charlotte, what? Charlotte? I was kidding. Charlotte!" She was laughing too, but she felt flustered and hot all over; her voice came out fast and frantic.
Charlotte finally stopped laughing and lowered her hands. She stared up at Tennessee with narrowed eyes, biting her lip. When she finally said, "Yeah, okay, show me," there was more than a little challenge in her voice.
Tennessee leaned down, unsure. Just before their lips brushed Charlotte cracked up, and Tennessee pulled back, shocked into embarrassment again. "You asked!"
Charlotte rubbed her hands over her eyes, still giggling. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I want to. Come back here." She tugged at Tennessee's arm until Tennessee leaned back into her and this time she put her hand on the side of Charlotte's face. Charlotte breathed deeply and threaded her fingers through Tennessee's hair, resting them lightly on the back of her neck.
Tennessee brushed their lips together, soft and careful. She was almost afraid partly because of Charlotte's unflattering description of the technique of the last person she'd kissed, but partly just because it was Charlotte and that made this her first kiss with someone who really meant something to her.
Tennessee kept it light, but Charlotte deepened it, pulling Tennessee down and sliding their tongues together a little more forcefully than Tennessee was expecting and with far less finesse than Daniel had. There weren't fireworks this time either, but there was something else, something intense and warm expanding in Tennessee's chest.
They kissed until Charlotte started laughing again and pushed Tennessee away. Tennessee flopped over on her back and closed her eyes, just breathing. Charlotte curled into her side and said, "You're right; that was way better."
****
Charlotte's waiting when Tennessee walks in and, if the substantial pile of empty sugar packets next to her coffee cup is anything to go by, she's been waiting awhile. She was probably already there when she called.
The diner looks like any of the million roadside diners Tennessee's been in while on tour, like it's trying to evoke late, sleepless nights and long, dusty days in the kinds of small towns she knows by feel if not by name. The lights are sharp enough and the smell of the coffee is strong enough that it almost works if you don't look out the window. Charlotte probably chose it for the ambiance as much as for the pie; it's not cruel, but as a message it's fairly pointed and Tennessee wants to slide into the booth across from her, lean across the table, shake her shoulders and say you left me. That's not exactly fair but it's still true.
Charlotte raises her eyebrows and gives Tennessee a little wave, kicking her heels in a dull thud against the wood lining the bottom of the booth. She doesn't look that different than she did when Tennessee last saw her, but then she doesn't look that different than she did when she was fifteen. Her shorts are so short they're barely there and her shirt is some kind of gauzy white thing. She should be cold even in LA, but she's wearing boots and there's a hoodie thrown across the booth next to her, as though in concession to the fact that it's December. Her hair is even longer than usual and it's tangled around her face. It's so fine that it gets like that if she doesn't brush it all the time. Tennessee's fingers itch to comb through it and there was a time when that would have been welcome. She clenches her hand in the pocket of her jacket and slides into the booth watching Charlotte's fingers tap against her coffee cup.
"Hey," she says.
"Hi," says Charlotte and it's awkward, but she looks more composed than Tennessee feels. She looks up through her lashes and says, "You look good, Tenn."
Tennessee says, "So do you," and she leaves out the part where Charlotte looks exactly the same. Charlotte always looked good.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine."
Charlotte nods. "How's Z?"
Tennessee shakes her head. "She's doing well. What do you want me to say? She's doing really well."
"Does she know you're here?"
Tennessee hisses in a breath through her teeth; it's a loaded trap of a question and it hurts, maybe more than it should. There's not a right answer. If she says "yes" she's a spy and if she says "no" she's a coward, and that isn't fair to anyone, especially because she's pretty sure it's not about Z at all; it's about Charlotte wanting to know where she stands with Tennessee, which is stupid because she stands where she always did. Or at least Tennessee wants her to.
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not."
Tennessee sighs. "No, I chose not to call her at 3:30 in the morning, but I'll tell her I saw you."
Charlotte shrugs. "She'd have been up."
Tennessee runs her hands through her hair, tugging at her own tangles that she didn't bother to brush out. "Yeah, probably. Usually. I don't know. What do you want me to say, Charlotte?" She's frustrated and there's something sad and tight in her chest; admitting that she doesn't know what to say to Charlotte feels like defeat.
She rubs at her temples, turning away to motion the waitress over. Charlotte stares at the table while Tennessee orders coffee and pie. When they're alone again, Charlotte reaches out to brush her fingers against Tennessee's wrist. Her touch lingers even after she has Tennessee's attention and Tennessee can feel every point of contact.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I'm just... I'm glad you're good, Tenn. I'm glad she is."
There's sincere apology in Charlotte's voice and something else, startled worry and uncertainty like she's not sure what Tennessee is going to do either and that's.... Tennessee didn't come here to fight. She doesn't like making Charlotte sound like that and she doesn't want to feel this way, like the distance between them is so much further than the clasp of their hands across the table. She turns her hand, and squeezes Charlotte's fingers.
"How are you?"
Charlotte lets out a shaky breath. "I'm okay."
"Are you really?"
Charlotte nods. "Yeah, really. I'm, uh, starting school in January."
That's surprising, though maybe it shouldn't be. Tennessee just didn't know that when Charlotte sat down on Z's couch and stared at the floor next to Tennessee's feet and said "I'm out," she meant out like that, like whole new life plan out. "Really? Zoology?"
"Ecology and evolutionary biology."
Tennessee says, "You'll be great at it."
Charlotte pulls her hand back when the waitress brings Tennessee's order. Tennessee leans back against the seat and watches Charlotte play with her napkin.
When it's silent and awkward again for too long, Tennessee says, "I miss you."
"You guys were touring. You and Reni and Laena." Charlotte's voice gets a little singsongy on Laena's name. "I just couldn't watch. I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't, Tenn."
"You chose."
"I know," Charlotte says. Her voice breaks on the last word and she's shredding her napkin into pieces. Tennessee leans forward, putting one hand on top of Charlotte's to still her. "I know," Charlotte says again, more quietly, "but I needed the space. I didn't know what was next, just that something had to be... I wasn't happy. And I took it out on you and on Z and I just needed to not do what I was doing for awhile."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Tennessee asks.
There's a long pause and then Charlotte says, "Good. I'm good. But I miss you."
Tennessee smiles across the table at her, hesitant but sincere, and Charlotte smiles back, and when Tennessee finally tastes the chocolate-hazelnut pie it doesn't change her life, but it's pretty good all the same.
*****
When they were kids, before Tennessee finally moved to the States for good, they were pen pals. Tennessee was never sure what happened to the letters from five, six, seven, eight-year-old Charlotte, but she kept most of the later ones in a box in her closet, tucked into the journals she kept sporadically in early adolescence.
Once on a trip to the States Tennessee stayed the night at Charlotte's house while their fathers were out. Charlotte brought in a stack of CDs from her dad's office, mostly unsigned local bands, and they lay on the floor of the living room in the dark listening to the rough, unpolished demos for hours until they heard her father's car in the drive.
There was a letter waiting for Tennessee when she got back to London. It was postmarked days before she even left and it was filled with Charlotte's excited, cramped scrawl. It started with the sentence we should start a band underlined four times. That was the first time it was ever mentioned, and at that point neither of them played an instrument except the piano. Badly. They didn't talk about it again at all until almost three years later when Tennessee brought it up. Later, Charlotte always said it was Tennessee's idea, and Tennessee was never sure if she remembered that it had actually been hers.
Tennessee wrote a postcard to Charlotte from every stop of the Arctic Monkeys tour. She filled them with the details of the venues and the truck stops and the shows themselves. She wrote about Reni's vivacious energy and how Laena was - almost - perfect. She wrote about how Z threw herself into tour like she had something to prove, and maybe she did or maybe it was just Z, but she was captivating on stage and charming and hilarious off of it.
She wrote about trying to drag the others out with her in New Orleans and how she went anyway even though they wouldn't come, about getting drunk on the street with strangers on something strong and purple and too-sweet as the night flared and whirled around her. She wrote about how ridiculous it was to watch Laena (dressed as a sheep) try to buck Z off of her back, and about how she felt like she had the white clown makeup caked along her hairline for days afterward. She wrote about the one time she got through an entire show without expecting to see Charlotte when she looked over at Laena and about the night Z slipped into her bunk and lay down next to her, brushing her fingers through Tennessee's hair and, when Tennessee opened her eyes, whispering "You and me, Tenn?" which Tennessee figured mostly meant I'm sorry and I miss her too. Tennessee swallowed hard and curled her palm against the curve of Z's shoulder and said, "Of course, of course" and meant it because she wasn't going anywhere.
"But that didn't make it easier," she wrote. And then "I miss you." And then, "Answer your bloody phone."
She kept the postcards in a shoebox in her suitcase until the end of the tour, but she never sent any of them.
****
Tennessee lets herself into Z's apartment because the door's not locked. She's fairly confident the door does, in fact, lock, but she wouldn't swear to it. She's never really seen it happen. Z's building is this kind of hippy-bohemian thing with brick walls and peeling paint. The apartment itself is big, with high ceilings and wood floors and wide windows and lots of light when the thick curtains are actually open which, of course, they're not.
Z and Ryan look up from the couch when she comes in. They're tucked up together, Z half on top of Ryan with her head on his shoulder and they're and covered up with the plaid comforter that Z leaves lying around her living room in the winter. She seems to take an ironic delight in the fact that it's hideous and matches nothing else in the apartment. They're watching some movie Tennessee doesn't recognize. It's black and white and in French, but they seem fairly engrossed.
"Hey!" Z says and smiles. "Pancakes?" She gestures toward the remnants of...something sitting on a plate on the coffee table. It looks kind of like pancakes. It probably even tastes kind of like pancakes. Z's cooking usually tastes okay if you can get over the appearance enough to eat it.
"Hey," Tennessee says. She hovers just inside the doorway until Z sits up to fumble for the pause button on the remote and gestures Tennessee into the room. Her forehead wrinkles a little in concern.
"You okay, Tenn? You look worried."
Tennessee swallows and sits down on the chair across from them. "Yeah, I'm okay. Didn't sleep that well. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."
Ryan sits up too and looks back and forth between them and says, "I'm gonna go get more coffee."
"I'm out," Z says.
Ryan looks at Tennessee again and then points at the door. "From the coffee shop." Ryan Ross is not the most observant person Tennessee has ever met, but he has a weird, skittish talent for avoiding conversations that touch on intraband discord.
She holds up one hand. "One quick question, Ryan. Is it okay if I, uh, invited Charlotte to your New Year's party?"
Ryan's eyes go wide and he looks trapped, the way he does when they're talking about Charlotte but he's not only thinking about Charlotte. He just glances at Z, though, and when she shrugs he says, "Yeah, okay." He's got one hand on Z's shoulder and he's rubbing his thumb lightly against the side of her neck. She reaches up to squeeze his hand, smiling as she looks over at him.
"Coffee is a great idea, seriously."
He studies her a minute, then gets up, sliding his shoes on at the door. He's already fully dressed in, like, actual clothes including slacks and a vest. From what Tennessee can see of Z, she's wearing a ratty old t-shirt and probably not much else. Ryan is so weird.
"Don't forget your wallet this time," Z says.
Ryan pulls it out of his back pocket, holding it up with his left hand and flipping her off with his right. Z laughs and blows him a kiss.
Once he's gone Tennessee gestures at the door. "Does he sleep dressed like that?"
Z blinks at her and then grins, slow and mischievous. "Of course not. He sleeps naked."
Tennessee makes some noise half way between a laugh and a groan and puts her hands over her face, rubbing at her eyes. When she looks up again, Z is just staring at her with raised eyebrows. She looks more serious. Tennessee sighs.
"So I saw Charlotte."
Z bites her lower lip. "And she's coming to the party."
Tennessee shrugs. "Yeah. If I can talk her into it."
Z pulls her blanket-covered legs up to her chest and rests her chin on them. She looks young like that, unguarded, and Tennessee is struck by how rare it is to catch Z in an unguarded moment. Z's always on in a way that can make Tennessee feel clunky and uncoordinated next to her. Now she's staring intensely at her knees as she traces the pattern on the blanket with her index finger.
"Z," Tennessee says softly.
Finally Z looks up and her voice is quiet when she says, "Good."
"Good?" Tennessee asks.
"She hasn't returned my calls, Tenn. I assumed she didn't answer yours. I know we don't talk about it much. I would have, if you'd wanted to. I could have, but..." She shakes her head. It's true; they don't talk about Charlotte. While they were finding Reni and Laena they talked about having a full line-up; they talk about the band's history and formation, but they don't talk about Charlotte so much as they talk around her, tip-toeing around a landmine.
At the end, before Charlotte left, she and Z fought all the time. They fought about Z being bossy and Charlotte being moody and Z being pretentious and Charlotte being a slacker and Z being flaky sometimes and Charlotte being a hypocrite for calling Z flaky and why Charlotte always had to drive and whether or not Z's hat was ugly and what vegetables to put on the fucking pizza. But they never really fought about the music. Even when it felt like they fought about everything else, it wasn't about the band and so Tennessee sided with whoever was losing or maybe with whoever was in the worse mood or sometimes just with whoever was right (if there was a right answer) and breathed through the low simmering tension because they always made up and it wasn't about the band.
Neither of them expected Charlotte to leave. Even Charlotte looked disbelieving when she made her announcement. But then she disappeared, and Z and Tennessee maneuvered their way around the hole she left as best they could.
Z looks down again and says, "What if I said no?"
"What?"
"What if I'd said no? What if I said I don't want to see her? That I don't want her at my boyfriend's New Year's party?"
Tennessee swallows again and waits until Z looks up to meet her eyes. Tennessee shrugs. "Z, I knew you wouldn't say that. You're my best friend. So's she. But. I wouldn't have asked if I thought you would say that." She wouldn't have asked if she thought Z would say it and mean it, anyway. Z loves Charlotte. Tennessee just wasn't sure how much reminding of that Z was going to need or be willing to take.
Z cocks her head. "You seemed nervous, though."
Tennessee laughs and ducks her head. "Well I didn't think you would just say 'good' either."
"I'm still pissed off." She says it too quickly and a little defensively, as though Tennessee could have thought for a moment that she wasn't.
"Of course."
Z nods and seems to think for a minute and then says, softly but clearly, "You should tell her. That I said 'good.' Tell her I want her to come."
Tennessee looks down at the couch and grins.
*****
Tennessee met Charlotte Froom when she was six years old. There's a picture of them from the day they met, Charlotte tiny, dark-haired and unsmiling, with one arm tight around Tennessee's shoulders and Tennessee in this blue dress with a giant black bow in her hair, smiling around a missing front tooth. Tennessee was never sure if she actually remembered that meeting or if she just remembered the story, but she called Charlotte her best friend after they spent only one afternoon together and she threw a fit when her father took her out of the Frooms' house that day. She sobbed in the car all the way back to their hotel. Charlotte was just as upset and both their fathers loved to tell the story afterwards, even - or especially - after both girls started to find it embarrassing. Charlotte always swore she didn't remember. Tennessee said the same thing, but deep down she thought she might remember the emotions of it at least. When Charlotte left the band she was just gone, and Tennessee felt angry and ripped open in a way that was young and irrational and too vulnerable and strangely familiar.
That picture hung on the wall of their studio during the entire recording of the first album. Z loved it. She made sure it was prominent and pointed it out to visitors, cooing over baby Charlotte and Tennessee. Tennessee took it later and propped it up next to the mirror in her bedroom. Sometimes she stuck it in a drawer, but she would fish it out again every time she called Charlotte and Charlotte didn't answer. It was Tennessee's picture, taken by her father and she'd only ever had the one copy, but sometimes she wondered if Charlotte had a similar one anywhere, if her parents had taken one too.
*****
The New Year's party is a Z Berg and Ryan Ross party. They have this weird way of achieving a combination of classiness and pure debauched, drunken revelry that simultaneously reeks of pretension and is completely amazing. Ryan's in a suit; Z's in a black cocktail dress and real pearls. The beer is micro brew, the wine's expensive and unpronounceable and Tennessee's pretty sure that there's scotch that's as old as she is. There's also some kind of lethal rum-based punch concocted by Alex Greenwald, and that seems to be what most people are drinking out of red plastic cups. Tennessee had one cup, got dizzy and switched to gin and tonic that she mixed herself.
It's crowded, but she knows - and likes - most everyone. Even after all this time she's not quite used to having so many people who know her as her and not just as Pete Thomas's daughter. She catches sight of Laena in the corner talking to Jason and goes over to them. When she gets close, Laena catches her around the waist and whispers, "Great party!" in her ear. Tennessee hugs her back, but then pulls away and says, "It was all Z and Ryan. Have you seen Z anywhere?"
Laena cocks her head over to another corner, where Z's leaning against the wall with a glass of red wine in one hand, surveying the room in satisfaction. It's a fairly affected pose. Tennessee rolls her eyes and squeezes Laena's arm. "Thanks."
She gets to Z's side and echoes, "Great party." Z stands up on her toes and kisses Tennessee's cheek.
"Thanks." They stand for a minute, looking around the room. It's crowded with friends and friends of friends. Reni's by the punch bowl, talking to Eric and some girls Tennessee doesn't know. Alex and Michael and Michael's new pseudo-maybe-girlfriend are in the corner with a couple of Ryan's guitars. Ryan's standing next to the door talking to Spencer and Brendon who Tennessee met for the second time tonight when they stopped by "just for a minute" about an hour ago and while Ryan doesn't look comfortable at least they're talking and at least they're here, which...
Z clears her throat. "Have you talked to her? I thought you said she was coming."
Tennessee shakes her head. "She said she was." Z quirks her mouth and reaches out to squeeze Tennessee's shoulder.
Charlotte had promised, actually. She was hesitant at first, and Tennessee felt mean insisting that Charlotte come to such a large gathering, especially one with so many people she hadn't seen in so long. But Tennessee wanted those people; she wanted buffers. If it hadn't been this, then it would have been something quieter, with just Z, Tennessee and Charlotte and history. Tennessee's not sure any of the three of them were ready for that yet.
Tennessee sighs and lets her head thud back against the wall, then feels Z stiffen.
"Hey," Charlotte says next to her. Tennessee slowly opens her eyes. Charlotte's standing there in a shiny green dress with her hair brushed out smooth down her back. She's holding a bottle of Grey Goose out toward Z.
"You're late. When did you get here?" Tennessee asks, feeling shocked and stupid.
Charlotte shrugs. "Just now. Ryan let me in." She gestures toward Z with the bottle again.
Z blinks at her, and says, with no emotion in her voice, "I can't be bribed with expensive vodka."
"I know," Charlotte says.
Z nods. "I kind of want to slap you." Her voice is conversational, but there's something flashing in her eyes.
Charlotte raises her eyebrows and smiles, cool and smooth. "It wouldn't be the first time you've had that impulse, would it?" Tennessee's hands are shaking and she kind of hates them both.
They stare at each other and Tennessee shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, smoothing the satiny material of her own skirt down over her thighs. Z finally sighs, jerks the bottle away from Charlotte and thrusts it into Tennessee's hands without looking at her. Tennessee takes it, suddenly aware of how slick her palms feel. Z stares at Charlotte for another minute before throwing her arms around her neck. Charlotte staggers back a step, blinking in shock at Tennessee over Z's shoulder before she closes her eyes and hugs back.
Tennessee walks over to set the vodka on the table next to the demon punch. Hopefully Alex has the good sense not to come over and pour it in, but sometimes risks just have to be taken. When she turns back around Z and Charlotte have pulled away, but they've attracted an audience. Michael's wandered over to wrap his arms around Charlotte now, and Alex is hovering behind Z. Tennessee leans back against the table and watches.
She lets the others talk to Charlotte until she loses track of her and it's an hour and a half and two gin and tonics later when she finds Charlotte outside sitting on the porch steps, draped in a shawl that Tennessee recognizes as Z's. She's dangling a cigarette in her right hand. There's a run in her tights snaking up the inside of her right thigh and she's picking at the threads of it. She looks up when Tennessee sits down next to her.
"It's a good party, Tenn."
"You should probably tell Ryan and Z that."
Charlotte nods. "I did. They seem happy."
"They're..." Tennessee searches for the right word, "suited to each other."
Charlotte laughs softly.
"Ryan would probably let you smoke inside." Tennessee's pretty sure Ryan wouldn't even notice.
Charlotte casts a wary glance at the door behind her. "It's loud in there. There are a lot of people. I'm good out here."
Charlotte inhales around the cigarette and tips her head back to look at the sky. Her hair falls behind her in waves. Tennessee watches the line of her throat and the curve of her collarbone under the strap of her dress where the shawl has fallen away. Tennessee wants to reach out for her and just hold on.
"I missed you," she says again, edging closer so that her shoulder touches Charlotte's.
Charlotte leans in. "I missed you too. You guys are okay without me." There's a lift in her voice at the end, like she wants it to be a statement, but she's not quite that certain.
Tennessee shakes her head and says, "The band will be fine without you."
Charlotte looks over and her eyes are dark and shining. "I left the band."
"It didn't feel like that was all you left."
"I'm so sorry, Tenn."
Tennessee reaches behind her, pulling the small package out of her bag. "I have something for you."
Charlotte stubs her cigarette out next to her and reaches out to take the package.
"Merry Christmas," Tennessee says. Charlotte raises her eyebrows and Tennessee rolls her eyes. "Okay, Happy New Year. Open it."
It's upside down when Charlotte gets it open. She runs her hand over the back of the frame. Tennessee's holding her breath as Charlotte flips the picture over and breathes in with a sharp "oh" when she sees five-year-old Charlotte with her arm around six-year-old Tennessee, only one of them smiling for the camera. Charlotte runs her finger over the corner of the frame where the wood is chipped from the time they were all dancing around drunk and Z bumped into it and knocked it off the wall.
Charlotte looks up, and there's a shake to her shoulders and a hitch to her breath. "Tenn," she says and leans in to wrap her arms around Tennessee's neck. Tennessee closes her eyes and breathes Charlotte in. She smells like cigarette smoke and the horrible rum punch and the sharp spice of some kind of holiday perfume or lotion under that. They pull apart when there's a burst of noise through the open window.
"It's almost midnight," Tennessee says. "Should we go watch the ball drop?"
Charlotte reaches out and rests her hand against Tennessee's knee. She's watching Tennessee and there's something speculative and warm in her eyes. It catches Tennessee off-guard with its intensity and she has to look away. "Can we stay out here?" Charlotte whispers.
Tennessee covers Charlotte's hand with her own. "Yeah, we can do that."
Charlotte says, "Hey, Tenn, look at me." When Tennessee looks over, Charlotte's still smiling. She slides closer, so her palm curls just above Tennessee's knee over the inside of her thigh. They're pressed together now and Charlotte has to look up. Tennessee watches the shadows on the planes of her face. There's always been something about Charlotte, something dark and quiet and slow-building. There's an elegance to Z, a smooth and practiced sex appeal, but no one else smolders like Charlotte does. Tennessee can't breathe.
"I've never had a New Year's kiss with anyone who meant anything to me," Charlotte says.
Tennessee bites her lip and says, hesitantly, "I could..."
"Yeah," Charlotte says and reaches out to curl the fingers of her free hand around Tennessee's shoulder, right against the bare skin of her neck.
"Yeah," Tennessee murmurs, leaning down. It's gentle and Tennessee has a minute to think that Charlotte tastes like she smells, cigarettes and awful rum punch and cinnamon, before Charlotte makes a soft noise and opens her mouth to slide their tongues together. Tennessee shivers and twists around to pull Charlotte closer and then they're just kissing as something warm and sudden and familiar curls through Tennessee and the New Year's countdown starts from inside the house.
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Ways of Going Forward
Charlotte/Tennessee (background Z/Ryan); 5,800 words
PG
Set New Year's Eve! Please ignore that it is now January 18.
Tennessee wants to say "Where have you been?" or maybe just "Fuck you." She takes a deep breath and says, "Sleeping. It's..." she glances at the clock, "3 am. And my birthday was ten days ago."
Thanks to inlovewithnight for responding graciously, supportively and helpfully to my panicked emails, softlyforgotten for audiencing and being so sweet and blindmouse for the beta and the encouragement. You guys are awesome. ♥ ♥ ♥
Cut tag text from The Like's What I Say and What I Mean, (linked just on the off chance that anyone interested in reading this is still unfamiliar with the music. :D!)
Ways of Going Forward
Tennessee doesn't even look at the caller ID when she fumbles for her phone on the nightstand. She's expecting Z, since it's about the time of night when Z and Ryan decide it's a good idea to drunk-dial the world. Or she's expecting Mark, maybe; it's been awhile, but they're still friends and he always did ignore timezones as a lifestyle choice. She mumbles out a barely conscious "Hello?"
"Happy Birthday," Charlotte says. "Hey, have you tried that new all-night vegan diner? They've got this chocolate-hazelnut pie, Tenn, I swear, it will change your life."
Tennessee's heart stops beating and when it starts again it's in her throat and she has trouble choking out words around it. She sits up so fast the world tilts and slides. "Charlotte?"
"What are you doing?" Charlotte's voice is too casual, layered with amusement in a way that's almost mean and definitely desperate, like she's daring Tennessee to admit that it's weird that they haven't spoken for the better part of a year and now they're talking about vegan chocolate pie. Tennessee knows the game; whoever stays the coolest wins. It's not like it's a new game, but Z's the only other person who was ever any good at it.
Tennessee wants to say "Where have you been?" or maybe just "Fuck you." She takes a deep breath and says, "Sleeping. It's..." she glances at the clock, "3 am. And my birthday was ten days ago."
Charlotte pauses and then says, "I know. I'm sorry." Her voice is soft and she sounds like she means it.
That should make Tennessee feel better, but mostly it makes pressure burn hot behind her eyes. She inhales with a shudder, trying to steady her voice. "What do you want, Charlotte?"
She spent months leaving whispered and increasingly anxious and finally just pathetic messages on Charlotte's voicemail. She'd have given just about anything for this call in July, August, September, October. Now it's almost January and she wishes she wasn't so glad to hear Charlotte's voice.
Charlotte pauses and says, "Pie?"
"Pie."
"Yes, let me buy you birthday pie. And coffee. Tennessee, just meet me, please?"
Tennessee waits a beat, pretending like she actually has to consider it, and then says, "Fine, fine, text me the address." She hangs up the phone and sits on the edge of her bed trembling until her head clears enough to get up and get dressed.
*****
Tennessee's first kiss was a boy named Daniel who was the son of a studio musician friend of her father's; he and his family spent the night at Tennessee's house one night and he smiled at her over dinner and kicked her ankle under the table until she looked at him and blushed. She was 15 and embarrassed at her lack of experience, how few friends she had, how little she knew. He was 17 and seemed older. He kissed her out in her backyard, sitting on the edge of the pool with their feet in the water. He knotted one hand in her hair and slid the other just under the hem of her skirt, curling his fingers around her knee and stroking lightly with his thumb along the inside of her leg as he licked into her mouth smooth and easy. It was fine; there were no fireworks, but he didn't push her and it was sweet and she got goosebumps in the warm, summer air.
Charlotte wrinkled her nose when Tennessee told her. Charlotte's first kiss had happened earlier, at some party with some kids from her school that she'd somehow been cajoled into attending and regretted. It was sloppy and unimpressive and Charlotte described it afterward as "gross" and "over."
"What was it like?" Charlotte asked. They were lying on Tennessee's bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"What do you mean?"
Charlotte elbowed Tennessee in the ribs and rolled her eyes when Tennessee turned to look at her, quirking her lips in a hesitant half-smile. "What's it like to kiss a boy who isn't trying to swallow your head?"
Tennessee pushed herself up on one elbow and shrugged. "I don't know. It was nice. It was hot." She raised her eyebrows on the last word, trying for suggestive and playful, but she could feel her face flush. Charlotte looked up at her with wide eyes, smiling for real. She reached out and tapped her fingers against Tennessee's wrist.
"Yeah?"
Tennessee's pulse jumped. She fixed her eyes next to Charlotte's head, where her dark hair was fanned out against the white of the pillow case. She said, "I could show you" before she gave herself enough time to think about it. Charlotte laughed, quick and embarrassed, and threw her hands over her face, mumbling something unintelligible.
Tennessee grabbed her wrist and tugged to pull her hand down and said, "Charlotte, what? Charlotte? I was kidding. Charlotte!" She was laughing too, but she felt flustered and hot all over; her voice came out fast and frantic.
Charlotte finally stopped laughing and lowered her hands. She stared up at Tennessee with narrowed eyes, biting her lip. When she finally said, "Yeah, okay, show me," there was more than a little challenge in her voice.
Tennessee leaned down, unsure. Just before their lips brushed Charlotte cracked up, and Tennessee pulled back, shocked into embarrassment again. "You asked!"
Charlotte rubbed her hands over her eyes, still giggling. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I want to. Come back here." She tugged at Tennessee's arm until Tennessee leaned back into her and this time she put her hand on the side of Charlotte's face. Charlotte breathed deeply and threaded her fingers through Tennessee's hair, resting them lightly on the back of her neck.
Tennessee brushed their lips together, soft and careful. She was almost afraid partly because of Charlotte's unflattering description of the technique of the last person she'd kissed, but partly just because it was Charlotte and that made this her first kiss with someone who really meant something to her.
Tennessee kept it light, but Charlotte deepened it, pulling Tennessee down and sliding their tongues together a little more forcefully than Tennessee was expecting and with far less finesse than Daniel had. There weren't fireworks this time either, but there was something else, something intense and warm expanding in Tennessee's chest.
They kissed until Charlotte started laughing again and pushed Tennessee away. Tennessee flopped over on her back and closed her eyes, just breathing. Charlotte curled into her side and said, "You're right; that was way better."
****
Charlotte's waiting when Tennessee walks in and, if the substantial pile of empty sugar packets next to her coffee cup is anything to go by, she's been waiting awhile. She was probably already there when she called.
The diner looks like any of the million roadside diners Tennessee's been in while on tour, like it's trying to evoke late, sleepless nights and long, dusty days in the kinds of small towns she knows by feel if not by name. The lights are sharp enough and the smell of the coffee is strong enough that it almost works if you don't look out the window. Charlotte probably chose it for the ambiance as much as for the pie; it's not cruel, but as a message it's fairly pointed and Tennessee wants to slide into the booth across from her, lean across the table, shake her shoulders and say you left me. That's not exactly fair but it's still true.
Charlotte raises her eyebrows and gives Tennessee a little wave, kicking her heels in a dull thud against the wood lining the bottom of the booth. She doesn't look that different than she did when Tennessee last saw her, but then she doesn't look that different than she did when she was fifteen. Her shorts are so short they're barely there and her shirt is some kind of gauzy white thing. She should be cold even in LA, but she's wearing boots and there's a hoodie thrown across the booth next to her, as though in concession to the fact that it's December. Her hair is even longer than usual and it's tangled around her face. It's so fine that it gets like that if she doesn't brush it all the time. Tennessee's fingers itch to comb through it and there was a time when that would have been welcome. She clenches her hand in the pocket of her jacket and slides into the booth watching Charlotte's fingers tap against her coffee cup.
"Hey," she says.
"Hi," says Charlotte and it's awkward, but she looks more composed than Tennessee feels. She looks up through her lashes and says, "You look good, Tenn."
Tennessee says, "So do you," and she leaves out the part where Charlotte looks exactly the same. Charlotte always looked good.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine."
Charlotte nods. "How's Z?"
Tennessee shakes her head. "She's doing well. What do you want me to say? She's doing really well."
"Does she know you're here?"
Tennessee hisses in a breath through her teeth; it's a loaded trap of a question and it hurts, maybe more than it should. There's not a right answer. If she says "yes" she's a spy and if she says "no" she's a coward, and that isn't fair to anyone, especially because she's pretty sure it's not about Z at all; it's about Charlotte wanting to know where she stands with Tennessee, which is stupid because she stands where she always did. Or at least Tennessee wants her to.
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not."
Tennessee sighs. "No, I chose not to call her at 3:30 in the morning, but I'll tell her I saw you."
Charlotte shrugs. "She'd have been up."
Tennessee runs her hands through her hair, tugging at her own tangles that she didn't bother to brush out. "Yeah, probably. Usually. I don't know. What do you want me to say, Charlotte?" She's frustrated and there's something sad and tight in her chest; admitting that she doesn't know what to say to Charlotte feels like defeat.
She rubs at her temples, turning away to motion the waitress over. Charlotte stares at the table while Tennessee orders coffee and pie. When they're alone again, Charlotte reaches out to brush her fingers against Tennessee's wrist. Her touch lingers even after she has Tennessee's attention and Tennessee can feel every point of contact.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I'm just... I'm glad you're good, Tenn. I'm glad she is."
There's sincere apology in Charlotte's voice and something else, startled worry and uncertainty like she's not sure what Tennessee is going to do either and that's.... Tennessee didn't come here to fight. She doesn't like making Charlotte sound like that and she doesn't want to feel this way, like the distance between them is so much further than the clasp of their hands across the table. She turns her hand, and squeezes Charlotte's fingers.
"How are you?"
Charlotte lets out a shaky breath. "I'm okay."
"Are you really?"
Charlotte nods. "Yeah, really. I'm, uh, starting school in January."
That's surprising, though maybe it shouldn't be. Tennessee just didn't know that when Charlotte sat down on Z's couch and stared at the floor next to Tennessee's feet and said "I'm out," she meant out like that, like whole new life plan out. "Really? Zoology?"
"Ecology and evolutionary biology."
Tennessee says, "You'll be great at it."
Charlotte pulls her hand back when the waitress brings Tennessee's order. Tennessee leans back against the seat and watches Charlotte play with her napkin.
When it's silent and awkward again for too long, Tennessee says, "I miss you."
"You guys were touring. You and Reni and Laena." Charlotte's voice gets a little singsongy on Laena's name. "I just couldn't watch. I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't, Tenn."
"You chose."
"I know," Charlotte says. Her voice breaks on the last word and she's shredding her napkin into pieces. Tennessee leans forward, putting one hand on top of Charlotte's to still her. "I know," Charlotte says again, more quietly, "but I needed the space. I didn't know what was next, just that something had to be... I wasn't happy. And I took it out on you and on Z and I just needed to not do what I was doing for awhile."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Tennessee asks.
There's a long pause and then Charlotte says, "Good. I'm good. But I miss you."
Tennessee smiles across the table at her, hesitant but sincere, and Charlotte smiles back, and when Tennessee finally tastes the chocolate-hazelnut pie it doesn't change her life, but it's pretty good all the same.
*****
When they were kids, before Tennessee finally moved to the States for good, they were pen pals. Tennessee was never sure what happened to the letters from five, six, seven, eight-year-old Charlotte, but she kept most of the later ones in a box in her closet, tucked into the journals she kept sporadically in early adolescence.
Once on a trip to the States Tennessee stayed the night at Charlotte's house while their fathers were out. Charlotte brought in a stack of CDs from her dad's office, mostly unsigned local bands, and they lay on the floor of the living room in the dark listening to the rough, unpolished demos for hours until they heard her father's car in the drive.
There was a letter waiting for Tennessee when she got back to London. It was postmarked days before she even left and it was filled with Charlotte's excited, cramped scrawl. It started with the sentence we should start a band underlined four times. That was the first time it was ever mentioned, and at that point neither of them played an instrument except the piano. Badly. They didn't talk about it again at all until almost three years later when Tennessee brought it up. Later, Charlotte always said it was Tennessee's idea, and Tennessee was never sure if she remembered that it had actually been hers.
Tennessee wrote a postcard to Charlotte from every stop of the Arctic Monkeys tour. She filled them with the details of the venues and the truck stops and the shows themselves. She wrote about Reni's vivacious energy and how Laena was - almost - perfect. She wrote about how Z threw herself into tour like she had something to prove, and maybe she did or maybe it was just Z, but she was captivating on stage and charming and hilarious off of it.
She wrote about trying to drag the others out with her in New Orleans and how she went anyway even though they wouldn't come, about getting drunk on the street with strangers on something strong and purple and too-sweet as the night flared and whirled around her. She wrote about how ridiculous it was to watch Laena (dressed as a sheep) try to buck Z off of her back, and about how she felt like she had the white clown makeup caked along her hairline for days afterward. She wrote about the one time she got through an entire show without expecting to see Charlotte when she looked over at Laena and about the night Z slipped into her bunk and lay down next to her, brushing her fingers through Tennessee's hair and, when Tennessee opened her eyes, whispering "You and me, Tenn?" which Tennessee figured mostly meant I'm sorry and I miss her too. Tennessee swallowed hard and curled her palm against the curve of Z's shoulder and said, "Of course, of course" and meant it because she wasn't going anywhere.
"But that didn't make it easier," she wrote. And then "I miss you." And then, "Answer your bloody phone."
She kept the postcards in a shoebox in her suitcase until the end of the tour, but she never sent any of them.
****
Tennessee lets herself into Z's apartment because the door's not locked. She's fairly confident the door does, in fact, lock, but she wouldn't swear to it. She's never really seen it happen. Z's building is this kind of hippy-bohemian thing with brick walls and peeling paint. The apartment itself is big, with high ceilings and wood floors and wide windows and lots of light when the thick curtains are actually open which, of course, they're not.
Z and Ryan look up from the couch when she comes in. They're tucked up together, Z half on top of Ryan with her head on his shoulder and they're and covered up with the plaid comforter that Z leaves lying around her living room in the winter. She seems to take an ironic delight in the fact that it's hideous and matches nothing else in the apartment. They're watching some movie Tennessee doesn't recognize. It's black and white and in French, but they seem fairly engrossed.
"Hey!" Z says and smiles. "Pancakes?" She gestures toward the remnants of...something sitting on a plate on the coffee table. It looks kind of like pancakes. It probably even tastes kind of like pancakes. Z's cooking usually tastes okay if you can get over the appearance enough to eat it.
"Hey," Tennessee says. She hovers just inside the doorway until Z sits up to fumble for the pause button on the remote and gestures Tennessee into the room. Her forehead wrinkles a little in concern.
"You okay, Tenn? You look worried."
Tennessee swallows and sits down on the chair across from them. "Yeah, I'm okay. Didn't sleep that well. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."
Ryan sits up too and looks back and forth between them and says, "I'm gonna go get more coffee."
"I'm out," Z says.
Ryan looks at Tennessee again and then points at the door. "From the coffee shop." Ryan Ross is not the most observant person Tennessee has ever met, but he has a weird, skittish talent for avoiding conversations that touch on intraband discord.
She holds up one hand. "One quick question, Ryan. Is it okay if I, uh, invited Charlotte to your New Year's party?"
Ryan's eyes go wide and he looks trapped, the way he does when they're talking about Charlotte but he's not only thinking about Charlotte. He just glances at Z, though, and when she shrugs he says, "Yeah, okay." He's got one hand on Z's shoulder and he's rubbing his thumb lightly against the side of her neck. She reaches up to squeeze his hand, smiling as she looks over at him.
"Coffee is a great idea, seriously."
He studies her a minute, then gets up, sliding his shoes on at the door. He's already fully dressed in, like, actual clothes including slacks and a vest. From what Tennessee can see of Z, she's wearing a ratty old t-shirt and probably not much else. Ryan is so weird.
"Don't forget your wallet this time," Z says.
Ryan pulls it out of his back pocket, holding it up with his left hand and flipping her off with his right. Z laughs and blows him a kiss.
Once he's gone Tennessee gestures at the door. "Does he sleep dressed like that?"
Z blinks at her and then grins, slow and mischievous. "Of course not. He sleeps naked."
Tennessee makes some noise half way between a laugh and a groan and puts her hands over her face, rubbing at her eyes. When she looks up again, Z is just staring at her with raised eyebrows. She looks more serious. Tennessee sighs.
"So I saw Charlotte."
Z bites her lower lip. "And she's coming to the party."
Tennessee shrugs. "Yeah. If I can talk her into it."
Z pulls her blanket-covered legs up to her chest and rests her chin on them. She looks young like that, unguarded, and Tennessee is struck by how rare it is to catch Z in an unguarded moment. Z's always on in a way that can make Tennessee feel clunky and uncoordinated next to her. Now she's staring intensely at her knees as she traces the pattern on the blanket with her index finger.
"Z," Tennessee says softly.
Finally Z looks up and her voice is quiet when she says, "Good."
"Good?" Tennessee asks.
"She hasn't returned my calls, Tenn. I assumed she didn't answer yours. I know we don't talk about it much. I would have, if you'd wanted to. I could have, but..." She shakes her head. It's true; they don't talk about Charlotte. While they were finding Reni and Laena they talked about having a full line-up; they talk about the band's history and formation, but they don't talk about Charlotte so much as they talk around her, tip-toeing around a landmine.
At the end, before Charlotte left, she and Z fought all the time. They fought about Z being bossy and Charlotte being moody and Z being pretentious and Charlotte being a slacker and Z being flaky sometimes and Charlotte being a hypocrite for calling Z flaky and why Charlotte always had to drive and whether or not Z's hat was ugly and what vegetables to put on the fucking pizza. But they never really fought about the music. Even when it felt like they fought about everything else, it wasn't about the band and so Tennessee sided with whoever was losing or maybe with whoever was in the worse mood or sometimes just with whoever was right (if there was a right answer) and breathed through the low simmering tension because they always made up and it wasn't about the band.
Neither of them expected Charlotte to leave. Even Charlotte looked disbelieving when she made her announcement. But then she disappeared, and Z and Tennessee maneuvered their way around the hole she left as best they could.
Z looks down again and says, "What if I said no?"
"What?"
"What if I'd said no? What if I said I don't want to see her? That I don't want her at my boyfriend's New Year's party?"
Tennessee swallows again and waits until Z looks up to meet her eyes. Tennessee shrugs. "Z, I knew you wouldn't say that. You're my best friend. So's she. But. I wouldn't have asked if I thought you would say that." She wouldn't have asked if she thought Z would say it and mean it, anyway. Z loves Charlotte. Tennessee just wasn't sure how much reminding of that Z was going to need or be willing to take.
Z cocks her head. "You seemed nervous, though."
Tennessee laughs and ducks her head. "Well I didn't think you would just say 'good' either."
"I'm still pissed off." She says it too quickly and a little defensively, as though Tennessee could have thought for a moment that she wasn't.
"Of course."
Z nods and seems to think for a minute and then says, softly but clearly, "You should tell her. That I said 'good.' Tell her I want her to come."
Tennessee looks down at the couch and grins.
*****
Tennessee met Charlotte Froom when she was six years old. There's a picture of them from the day they met, Charlotte tiny, dark-haired and unsmiling, with one arm tight around Tennessee's shoulders and Tennessee in this blue dress with a giant black bow in her hair, smiling around a missing front tooth. Tennessee was never sure if she actually remembered that meeting or if she just remembered the story, but she called Charlotte her best friend after they spent only one afternoon together and she threw a fit when her father took her out of the Frooms' house that day. She sobbed in the car all the way back to their hotel. Charlotte was just as upset and both their fathers loved to tell the story afterwards, even - or especially - after both girls started to find it embarrassing. Charlotte always swore she didn't remember. Tennessee said the same thing, but deep down she thought she might remember the emotions of it at least. When Charlotte left the band she was just gone, and Tennessee felt angry and ripped open in a way that was young and irrational and too vulnerable and strangely familiar.
That picture hung on the wall of their studio during the entire recording of the first album. Z loved it. She made sure it was prominent and pointed it out to visitors, cooing over baby Charlotte and Tennessee. Tennessee took it later and propped it up next to the mirror in her bedroom. Sometimes she stuck it in a drawer, but she would fish it out again every time she called Charlotte and Charlotte didn't answer. It was Tennessee's picture, taken by her father and she'd only ever had the one copy, but sometimes she wondered if Charlotte had a similar one anywhere, if her parents had taken one too.
*****
The New Year's party is a Z Berg and Ryan Ross party. They have this weird way of achieving a combination of classiness and pure debauched, drunken revelry that simultaneously reeks of pretension and is completely amazing. Ryan's in a suit; Z's in a black cocktail dress and real pearls. The beer is micro brew, the wine's expensive and unpronounceable and Tennessee's pretty sure that there's scotch that's as old as she is. There's also some kind of lethal rum-based punch concocted by Alex Greenwald, and that seems to be what most people are drinking out of red plastic cups. Tennessee had one cup, got dizzy and switched to gin and tonic that she mixed herself.
It's crowded, but she knows - and likes - most everyone. Even after all this time she's not quite used to having so many people who know her as her and not just as Pete Thomas's daughter. She catches sight of Laena in the corner talking to Jason and goes over to them. When she gets close, Laena catches her around the waist and whispers, "Great party!" in her ear. Tennessee hugs her back, but then pulls away and says, "It was all Z and Ryan. Have you seen Z anywhere?"
Laena cocks her head over to another corner, where Z's leaning against the wall with a glass of red wine in one hand, surveying the room in satisfaction. It's a fairly affected pose. Tennessee rolls her eyes and squeezes Laena's arm. "Thanks."
She gets to Z's side and echoes, "Great party." Z stands up on her toes and kisses Tennessee's cheek.
"Thanks." They stand for a minute, looking around the room. It's crowded with friends and friends of friends. Reni's by the punch bowl, talking to Eric and some girls Tennessee doesn't know. Alex and Michael and Michael's new pseudo-maybe-girlfriend are in the corner with a couple of Ryan's guitars. Ryan's standing next to the door talking to Spencer and Brendon who Tennessee met for the second time tonight when they stopped by "just for a minute" about an hour ago and while Ryan doesn't look comfortable at least they're talking and at least they're here, which...
Z clears her throat. "Have you talked to her? I thought you said she was coming."
Tennessee shakes her head. "She said she was." Z quirks her mouth and reaches out to squeeze Tennessee's shoulder.
Charlotte had promised, actually. She was hesitant at first, and Tennessee felt mean insisting that Charlotte come to such a large gathering, especially one with so many people she hadn't seen in so long. But Tennessee wanted those people; she wanted buffers. If it hadn't been this, then it would have been something quieter, with just Z, Tennessee and Charlotte and history. Tennessee's not sure any of the three of them were ready for that yet.
Tennessee sighs and lets her head thud back against the wall, then feels Z stiffen.
"Hey," Charlotte says next to her. Tennessee slowly opens her eyes. Charlotte's standing there in a shiny green dress with her hair brushed out smooth down her back. She's holding a bottle of Grey Goose out toward Z.
"You're late. When did you get here?" Tennessee asks, feeling shocked and stupid.
Charlotte shrugs. "Just now. Ryan let me in." She gestures toward Z with the bottle again.
Z blinks at her, and says, with no emotion in her voice, "I can't be bribed with expensive vodka."
"I know," Charlotte says.
Z nods. "I kind of want to slap you." Her voice is conversational, but there's something flashing in her eyes.
Charlotte raises her eyebrows and smiles, cool and smooth. "It wouldn't be the first time you've had that impulse, would it?" Tennessee's hands are shaking and she kind of hates them both.
They stare at each other and Tennessee shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, smoothing the satiny material of her own skirt down over her thighs. Z finally sighs, jerks the bottle away from Charlotte and thrusts it into Tennessee's hands without looking at her. Tennessee takes it, suddenly aware of how slick her palms feel. Z stares at Charlotte for another minute before throwing her arms around her neck. Charlotte staggers back a step, blinking in shock at Tennessee over Z's shoulder before she closes her eyes and hugs back.
Tennessee walks over to set the vodka on the table next to the demon punch. Hopefully Alex has the good sense not to come over and pour it in, but sometimes risks just have to be taken. When she turns back around Z and Charlotte have pulled away, but they've attracted an audience. Michael's wandered over to wrap his arms around Charlotte now, and Alex is hovering behind Z. Tennessee leans back against the table and watches.
She lets the others talk to Charlotte until she loses track of her and it's an hour and a half and two gin and tonics later when she finds Charlotte outside sitting on the porch steps, draped in a shawl that Tennessee recognizes as Z's. She's dangling a cigarette in her right hand. There's a run in her tights snaking up the inside of her right thigh and she's picking at the threads of it. She looks up when Tennessee sits down next to her.
"It's a good party, Tenn."
"You should probably tell Ryan and Z that."
Charlotte nods. "I did. They seem happy."
"They're..." Tennessee searches for the right word, "suited to each other."
Charlotte laughs softly.
"Ryan would probably let you smoke inside." Tennessee's pretty sure Ryan wouldn't even notice.
Charlotte casts a wary glance at the door behind her. "It's loud in there. There are a lot of people. I'm good out here."
Charlotte inhales around the cigarette and tips her head back to look at the sky. Her hair falls behind her in waves. Tennessee watches the line of her throat and the curve of her collarbone under the strap of her dress where the shawl has fallen away. Tennessee wants to reach out for her and just hold on.
"I missed you," she says again, edging closer so that her shoulder touches Charlotte's.
Charlotte leans in. "I missed you too. You guys are okay without me." There's a lift in her voice at the end, like she wants it to be a statement, but she's not quite that certain.
Tennessee shakes her head and says, "The band will be fine without you."
Charlotte looks over and her eyes are dark and shining. "I left the band."
"It didn't feel like that was all you left."
"I'm so sorry, Tenn."
Tennessee reaches behind her, pulling the small package out of her bag. "I have something for you."
Charlotte stubs her cigarette out next to her and reaches out to take the package.
"Merry Christmas," Tennessee says. Charlotte raises her eyebrows and Tennessee rolls her eyes. "Okay, Happy New Year. Open it."
It's upside down when Charlotte gets it open. She runs her hand over the back of the frame. Tennessee's holding her breath as Charlotte flips the picture over and breathes in with a sharp "oh" when she sees five-year-old Charlotte with her arm around six-year-old Tennessee, only one of them smiling for the camera. Charlotte runs her finger over the corner of the frame where the wood is chipped from the time they were all dancing around drunk and Z bumped into it and knocked it off the wall.
Charlotte looks up, and there's a shake to her shoulders and a hitch to her breath. "Tenn," she says and leans in to wrap her arms around Tennessee's neck. Tennessee closes her eyes and breathes Charlotte in. She smells like cigarette smoke and the horrible rum punch and the sharp spice of some kind of holiday perfume or lotion under that. They pull apart when there's a burst of noise through the open window.
"It's almost midnight," Tennessee says. "Should we go watch the ball drop?"
Charlotte reaches out and rests her hand against Tennessee's knee. She's watching Tennessee and there's something speculative and warm in her eyes. It catches Tennessee off-guard with its intensity and she has to look away. "Can we stay out here?" Charlotte whispers.
Tennessee covers Charlotte's hand with her own. "Yeah, we can do that."
Charlotte says, "Hey, Tenn, look at me." When Tennessee looks over, Charlotte's still smiling. She slides closer, so her palm curls just above Tennessee's knee over the inside of her thigh. They're pressed together now and Charlotte has to look up. Tennessee watches the shadows on the planes of her face. There's always been something about Charlotte, something dark and quiet and slow-building. There's an elegance to Z, a smooth and practiced sex appeal, but no one else smolders like Charlotte does. Tennessee can't breathe.
"I've never had a New Year's kiss with anyone who meant anything to me," Charlotte says.
Tennessee bites her lip and says, hesitantly, "I could..."
"Yeah," Charlotte says and reaches out to curl the fingers of her free hand around Tennessee's shoulder, right against the bare skin of her neck.
"Yeah," Tennessee murmurs, leaning down. It's gentle and Tennessee has a minute to think that Charlotte tastes like she smells, cigarettes and awful rum punch and cinnamon, before Charlotte makes a soft noise and opens her mouth to slide their tongues together. Tennessee shivers and twists around to pull Charlotte closer and then they're just kissing as something warm and sudden and familiar curls through Tennessee and the New Year's countdown starts from inside the house.
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