Winter Dream

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my readers. I hope this short sapphic romance keeps your spirits bright, especially those of you who need a little more warmth this holiday season.

Perhaps if she listened to the Wicked soundtrack enough times, Clara Wylde thought, she could convince herself that she was in a magical emerald-themed city with lesbian witches, where her only concern could be a semi-fascist government shadow-run by another lesbian witch. Unfortunately, as she stood facing her grandmother’s house, headphones now hanging around her neck as she recovered from her morning run, she was once again struck by the reality that, no, she was not in a gay fantasy world of singing, dancing, and moral conundrums. She was in bumfuck Ohio, where the only lesbian for miles was her, and the people calling for her repentance and comeuppance were her Bible-thumping cousins. Still had a semi-fascist government though. So. Yippee.

She placed her hands at the base of her neck as she caught her breath, wishing that she could keep running and escape the next twelve hours of her day with her extended family, but alas – she was here to support her sister, Mira. Six months pregnant and struck with a renewed, but, frankly, misguided, desire to reconnect with the family, Mira had called her two months before, begging to join her in a pilgrimage back to their ancestral land: a tiny city they’d spent barely more than four days in for the last thirty years of their lives. Now, they were here for a week.

Mira’s anxiety had peaked after their father had spent a few nights in the ER for high blood pressure four months ago. He was fine, ultimately; at seventy-three, a couple health scares were to be expected. But Mira couldn’t be consoled. Their already small family had the potential to shrink at the very moment her new family was expanding. So, she’d convinced their father to take them back to his hometown so they could spend Christmas together with the family he’d left behind before they were even born.

Clive had moved to Palm Springs when he was in his twenties, and, after he’d divorced their mother, he’d raised Clara and Mira there, too. Together, they’d visited Ohio only once, when Mira was eight and Clara was five. The only thing Clara could remember from that time was a fishing trip where Mira had gotten a hook caught in her foot, and something about raccoons living in the walls.

Mira now lived in San Diego, with her art studio, and Clara, in Los Angeles, with her accounting business, while their father still lived in Palm Springs. Thus, the idea of fishing, raccoons, and family she never talked to in the dead of actual, subzero winter for the holidays remained pretty much the opposite of appealing.

Their grandmother had visited on rare occasions throughout their childhood – a Christmas there; a birthday here; an occasional desire to trade snow for desert – but the last time Clara had had a meaningful conversation with Belinda Wylde was years ago, during Clara’s second semester at USC. The family grapevine had gotten wind of Clara’s first girlfriend, and her Grandmother Belinda had taken it upon herself to stage an exorcism over the phone.

Besides it being a sin, of course, homosexuality was also a “white thing,” according to Grandma. She’d invoked Ellen “Degenerate” to prove her point, and Clara held her tongue, feeling, at the time, that she didn’t quite have enough historical or pop culture knowledge of black lesbianism in her arsenal to disprove her grandmother’s point. Really, the only proof she had to the opposite was herself, at the time, and the lovely, semi-naked girl that was lying, horrified, in her bed beside her as the exorcism took place. Young, naïve, and completely taken off guard, Clara had allowed the verbal beatdown to progress for a full forty-five minutes, joined in parts by her Aunt Gladys and Uncle Bill reading random scripture until the girl she’d taken home the night before had gently suggested she hang up. God bless her.

Her father, Clive, to his credit, stopped speaking to his mother for an entire year after that, and advised she do the same. Tensions cooled as they do when family members gets sick, and eventually, after Grandmother Belinda had taken a few too many trips to the hospital in her advancing age, Clive obliged to pick up the phone again. Still, whatever opinions the family thus developed from that point on was something Clara was simply not privy to. He didn’t tell her, and she didn’t ask.

But now, Mira was pregnant. Mira, her amazing, wonderful, sappy, and now, very indebted, sister was one of her favorite people on Earth, but with a child on the way, Mira had suddenly felt the need to reach out to the other limbs of their family tree, hoping, perhaps, that blood would ultimately triumph over bias, and her vision of a large, happy family would be complete.

Of course, Mira had done her due diligence. She’d called several family members, explained that she wouldn’t tolerate homophobia while she and Clara were in town, and that this would be, hopefully, a loving and welcoming reunion with the prodigal son and his children.

Clara let out a slow, woeful groan as she continued standing in front of their grandmother’s house. Mira had been blinded by hope and hormones, and Clara would give her hell for it later, but right now, well…she was here. Technically, Mira didn’t really need her here; she and her husband, Frank, and their dad could have come on their own. But it would have been incomplete. Mira would have continued to feel unsettled; lost, maybe. She needed to see the whole family, at least once, to settle whatever puzzle she was trying to fix on her journey to new motherhood. She needed her sister on that journey and so Clara would be there for her, as she always was.

Mira had been there for her countless times in the past, like covering for her when she’d snuck out her freshman year of high school more than twenty years ago to meet a girl she’d met on Craiglist, or packing Clara’s bags five years ago when she’d made the hasty and ill-advised decision to move in with a girl she’d known for three months. Then, two years later, she’d picked Clara up from a seedy bar in Barstow when she’d gone on a two-night binger in honor of her and her then-girlfriend’s very bad break-up.

Of course, Clara had grown since then. In her mid-thirties now, she’d been carefully single for at least three years, with a nice one-bedroom apartment in Culver City and an adorable pug being pet-sit by her friend James while she traveled to the tundra of the Mid-West.

In any case, while she wasn’t exactly pleased to be here at Mira’s request, she’d made her peace with it. They were sisters. They took care of each other. Always had. Always would. And she knew Mira would make it up to her later. She trusted that.

Clara finally finished her post-run stretches and stood up tall. She cracked her neck from side to side. Then, she let out a puff of cold air and walked through it as she finally approached the front door.  “Well,” she said, reaching toward the doorknob. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

Clara watched as Mira’s fingers tightened on the green and gold tablecloth beneath her hands. They’d managed to survive most of the week, in part because Mira had been able to beg off for “naps” and other pregnancy-related breaks, dragging Clara along for “support,” but now, here was Christmas Eve dinner, with cousins, aunts, and uncles galore, and Frank beside Mira, looking like he might punch the next person who spoke.

“I mean, I hope you haven’t bought into that dangerous gender ideology,” Uncle Jermaine, Aunt Gladys’s husband, was saying, cutting into a slice of turkey. “It’s important for a boy to know he’ll be a man, and a girl to know her place as a woman.”

“We haven’t asked the gender of the baby,” Mira said, once again, through gritted teeth. “And when we find out, we don’t think it’s anyone’s business.”

“Well, I’ll know when I’m changing diapers,” Grandma Belinda laughed as she sipped her water.

Their father, for his part, paused staring at the ceiling briefly to snort in disbelief. “Mom. I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Respectfully.”

Grandma ignored him and set down her knife and fork, a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to say, dear. You and Frank – have you considered moving here to Ohio? Of course, it’s a touch colder than the West Coast, but the environment will be much healthier, I think. Far less worldly than San Diego.”

“I think I need a nap,” Mira said. She cleared her throat, released her fingers from their vice-like grip on the tablecloth. She gave Frank a sugary smile, which only slightly lessened the deep red that had painted his ears with barely withheld rage.

“Yeah, definitely,” he said eagerly. “I think so, too.”

“You seem a little frail,” Uncle Bill said, a hand propped up beneath his chin. “My Annie had four kids –” he swept his hand toward the smaller table in the other room, where the younger generation was screaming over a TikTok challenge on Bible verses. “She barely napped at all, in either pregnancy. You eating good? Maybe had a bit too much of that ‘nut’ milk or whatever?” Aunt Annie, who was sitting beside him, snickered at the joke.

“I’d consider being a bit more on your feet if I were you,” Aunt Gladys added gently, as she reached for the tray of mac n’ cheese. “We don’t want you giving birth to sissy boys.”

“Okay,” Dad said. He set down the glass of red wine he’d been downing. “Frank, you gonna take your wife upstairs, or what?”

“Yup, on it,” Frank said. He moved his chair back so fast it nearly fell over, and helped Mira stand as she held her belly. They exchanged a look of relief before Mira turned to Clara.

“Clara, you coming?”

Clara blinked. She, too, had been planning her own escape, of course, but didn’t exactly have another human growing inside her to use as a legitimate excuse. She’d figured that, given the occasion, she might just have to take one for the team, alongside her father, but he spoke up almost immediately.

“Right, that’s right. Clara, remember I mentioned that I ran out of menthols? You still planning to run to the store?”

Grandma Belinda clucked her tongue. “Honestly, Clive, it’s the middle of dinner. You can’t wait?”

“You should’ve quit years ago, Clive. The devil’s got a hold on you,” Aunt Gladys sighed.

Clara covered her mouth to hide a snicker as she stood. Her father had quit smoking when she was six years old. “Sure, Dad. I’ll run to the store.”

“Well, this is just rude,” Grandma Belinda chided. “Heathens, all of you.”

“It won’t take a minute,” Clara lied. It would absolutely take until dinner was over, that she would make sure of. “Anyone need anything?”

The family waved her off and she, Mira, and Frank hurried over to the front hall, where the stairs to the second floor, and the front door, were both located. As Clara pulled on her heavy winter coat, Mira pulled her into a crushing hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said. This was an absolutely terrible idea.”

“It was,” Clara agreed after Mira let her go. “We owe Dad a vacation after this.” She nodded toward the other room, where their father was now fielding questions about how he’d managed to raise two Godless women.

“Do we want to leave early?” Frank asked, barely hiding his own hopefulness as Clara pulled on her snow boots.

“I’ll check flights,” Mira said. She reached over and squeezed Clara’s hand again. “Don’t take too long. I mean, I know you want to, but it’s dark and the streets are icy. Be safe?”

“I will,” she promised. She gave Frank and Mira another hug and disappeared through the front door, trudging through the snow to her rental car. Inside, she pulled up her maps app and looked up a smoke shop – not for cigarettes, as her dad had requested, but for some much-needed medicinal reprieve.

The Green Collective. Four and a half stars. “Great,” she said. “Be there in a jiffy.” She slipped on her seatbelt, put the car in reverse, and took off down the road.

Ten minutes later, she parked outside of the marijuana dispensary and trudged through the store once more, handing the security guard her ID before entering the main door of the little smoke shop. When she entered, she looked around – it was just her and a woman behind the case of offerings, looking down at her phone.

Clara felt her frozen cheeks warm immediately. The woman was absolutely gorgeous. Long waves of curls that flowed down her narrow shoulders, pale brown skin and a gorgeously full nose, and lips painted in matte red. She was wearing a tight gray tank top that flattered her curves, revealing two full sleeves of black ink along well-toned muscles, and black cargo pants that sat on her hips. Clara licked her lips; cleared her throat.

“Hi,” she said, and her voice sounded like a mouse. She sighed and shook her head. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Um, what kind of...uh…weed do you have?”

The woman smiled at her, warm and inviting, her golden-brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you in the mood to smoke?”

Clara frowned thoughtfully. Going to a weed shop under these circumstances had, at first, seemed like a brilliant and necessary idea. She figured she’d park a little farther away from the house, indulge as necessary, and then take on the rest of the night in comfortable solace. The problem, however, was that she didn’t actually smoke that often. She partook when the opportunity presented itself, usually, but it was rare that she went out and bought the stuff on her own, which meant that she could never remember what to ask for, or how much.

“Um. A joint?” She tried.

“Okay.” The woman laughed softly. Clara thought, perhaps, that she might have even given her a once-over. But that was unlikely, right? She glanced down at her outfit. She was still wearing her heavy black coat, her black snow boots, a bright red beanie that said, in white lettering, “Ho Ho Homosexual.” Of course, she hadn’t worn it at her grandmother’s house, God forbid. She’d donned her gay apparel in the car. But there wasn’t anything about herself that especially stood out; she imagined her own dark brown face was frostbitten, and that her thick, tightly wound curls looked like a smashed mess beneath the beanie. “You want a pre-roll, then?” the woman offered. “Indica or Sativa?”

“Uh…”

“Upper or downer?”

“Downer,” Clara said automatically. “If that means, like, relaxing. Please.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, like she really was looking closely at Clara, a natural smirk playing on her lips. Then she winked and bent down. Clara swallowed and looked up, not wanting to be lewd, though she had caught a glimpse of the woman’s ample cleavage. I’m too gay for this, she thought to herself. The woman rose again and placed two pre-rolls on the counter. “Winter Dream,” she said, “That’s what we’re calling it, anyway. Two-for-one for Christmas, or what have you.” Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “A lot of people come through during the holidays.”

“I can imagine,” Clara said. “I mean, normally, I love the holidays, actually, but tonight is a fucking shitshow.”

The woman cocked her head. “Visiting family?”

“Unfortunately.” She sighed. “Extended family. They’re um…on the conservative side of things.”

The woman frowned. “Hate that. Do you live nearby?”

“No. I live in Los Angeles.”

“Ah.” The woman looked at her for another moment. Then, she looked down, her thumb tracing an aimless design on the glass. “So…there’s a party, tonight. Queer one, for POC. Most of us are escaping our families, I bet. Mine’s not too bad but…” She cleared her throat, suddenly seeming a little shy. “Anyway, um. I can give you the address, if you want.”

Clara looked at her. “Oh, are you…I mean…?”

The woman giggled. “Yes. I’d love to see you there. If you’re interested.”

“I’m definitely interested.”

“Great!” She smiled. “My name is Iris.” She reached for a discarded receipt beside her and took out a pen, scribbling quickly. “Here’s the address. And my number. If you get lost.”

“Thanks,” Clara said, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. “What time does the party start?”

“Couple hours,” she said. “Like around nine.”

“Cool,” Clara said. She licked the corner of her mouth, and Iris’s eyes dropped to her tongue. When she looked back up, her eyes were a little hooded. She cleared her throat.

“Um, so that’s eight for the…”

“Yes, the pre-rolls, right! Here you go.” Clara pulled out her wallet and dug around for a ten. Failing that, she was able to scrounge out one five-dollar bill and three crinkled ones. Iris put the pre-rolls in a bag for her and then cocked her head to the side.

“Do you have a lighter?”

“A…oh. Nope. Sure don’t.” She hadn’t thought that far.

Iris giggled again, bit her lip, and then pulled out three options, placing them on the counter as well. One had a pair of fiery red lips, another had a lizard head, and the last one was simple: a regular lighter with a blue body. Clara hesitated and then, feeling a little whimsical, grabbed the fiery red lips. Iris smiled as she pushed it toward her. “Good choice,” she said, a huskiness to her voice. Clara grabbed for her wallet again, but Iris shook her head, dropping the lighter into the brown bag of pre-rolls. “On the house,” she said.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“You can make it up to me tonight,” Iris said. Then, as if feeling a little nervous at her own boldness, she looked away and scratched the back of her ear. “If you end up coming, I mean. No pressure. Of course.”

Clara smiled. “I’ll try to make it.” She took a slow breath as she grabbed the bag of the counter and shoved it into her coat pocket. “Have a good night.” Then, thinking better of it, she turned back toward Iris. “Merry Christmas.”

Iris leaned forward again, propping her chin on her knuckles. “You too,” she said.

Clara moved slowly through the exit but then, once she was clear of the front door, she nearly skipped to her car, blood racing to her ears. A hot girl was just flirting with her – in the wild! In Euclid. On Christmas Eve! “It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle,” she muttered as she put the car in park.

It wasn’t that she was unaccustomed to getting flirted with…it’s just that it didn’t usually happen outside of specifically gay hotspots, like a party, or a bar, or some other queer event. But to happen when she was out and about, just trying to escape her evangelical Christian family? She grinned to herself as she started to drive. God was really on her side tonight.

“Okay, so, just wait until everyone goes to bed,” Mira said as she and Clara laid on the plush queen-sized bed in the guestroom Mira had been given. Frank and Clive were downstairs, attempting to be good sports in a game of Spades with the family, although Grandma Belinda had claimed they were creating a gambling den on a holy night. She was, in this case, roundly ignored. “As soon as they do, you can head out, and just text me when get you there.”

“Okay,” Clara greed. “But also, what if it’s a murder house and I’m being stupid.”

“Hmm.” Mira thought about it. Then she rolled onto her back and grabbed her phone from the side table.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking up ‘Euclid lesbians POC Christmas Eve’ and seeing if anything comes up.”

“….Oh.” Clara waited as Mira scrolled, figuring there couldn’t possibly be that much to search through. Euclid wasn’t a big town.

“Ah, okay! I found it!” She pushed the phone into Clara’s face. “Here’s an Instagram post. Christmas Eve party at the former Costco warehouse in Downtown Euclid.”

“They have a downtown?”

“Just go have fun,” Mira said. “Please. You deserve it. I can’t believe I thought coming here was a good idea.” She said this last part with a frown, looking down to run her hands over her growing belly.

Clara sighed and kissed her sister’s cheek. “You’re growing a family and you wanted to be around family. It makes sense.”

“I know,” Mira said. She sighed heavily. “I had been thinking that our small family wasn’t enough – wasn’t big and loud and full of generational traditions, like you see in the movies. But now that we’re here… well, I guess I know what’s worth it and what’s not.”

Clara smiled. “I love you, Big Sis.”

Mira reached around Clara and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you, Little Sis.” She pulled back and tapped her nose. “So, what are you wearing tonight?”

Clara fell back onto the bed with a groan. “I don’t know! I packed for religious family Christmas, not gay debaucherous Christmas.”

Mira sat up with a thoughtful frown and looked around. After a moment, she nodded to herself and gave Clara a serious look. “Okay, so. We’re going to need scissors.”

When the third game of Spades had finally ended, and their father claimed righteous success, Clara waited as Mira made the rounds, making sure to give a definitive “good night” to each family member, and confirming that they’d disappeared to their respective rooms. She waited ten minutes, then twenty. Finally, she heard Mira knock gently on the door.

“You ready?” she asked when Clara let her in. Clara looked down at her outfit; she was wearing a typical pair of skinny blue jeans that nonetheless hugged her ass perfectly. (Mira had called in Frank to confirm and Frank, blanching, sputtered and agreed, and then spent another five minutes declaring that no one’s ass was better than Mira’s, although no one told him to do that.) But Mira had worked wonders with a basic black tee shirt that she’d brought, cutting and tying and creating a gorgeous off-the-shoulder halter top that was the right amount of grunge DIY. (“Thank our high school pep rallies,” Mira had declared triumphantly.) They’d mussed and fussed with her hair so that her tight curls popped and Clara was wearing a smoky eye that she’d perfected herself during her college years.

“Ready,” she declared and Mira gave her a quick hug.

“Okay, go, go, go. And text me. Actually, send me your location. And you gave me Iris’s number, too, just in case, right?”

“Yes, Mom,” Clara said, rolling her eyes.

“And I will be a damn good one,” Mira said, wagging her finger. “Now, what time do you think you’ll be home?”

Clara looked at the time on her phone. It was 10:30 PM. “Um, like…12:30?”

Mira raised her eyebrows. “Okay, Grandma. Why don’t we say 1:30, to be safe?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

With another hug and a promise to call if her plans changed, she crept out the front door, gently closing it as Mira locked it behind her, and then disappearing into the night, finally feeling, for the first time all week, like she could breathe.

The warehouse was lit like a Christmas tree, strung with garland and white lights along the interior rafters, while the walls were decorated with various inflated deer, snowmen, and brown elves. In the middle of the room, a red-and-green disco ball spun proudly from a beam, turning the partygoers beneath it into a mass of colorful winter joy. On one side of the room, a DJ spun R&B Christmas classics, and Clara hummed along to TLC’s “Sleigh Ride” as she sipped her cider, watching people of various genders dance and chatter amongst themselves. She hadn’t texted Iris yet, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She supposed she wanted to get a feel for the place first; develop a sense of herself before she asked a stranger for company, though Iris had been the one to invite her.

“Do you want to dance?” Another woman came up to her, with smooth dark skin and clean edges beneath tightly wound corn rows in a delicate pattern. She was big – the kind of thick arms beneath her tight Christmas sweater vest that suggested she knew her way around a rugby field. Clara bit her lip; a dance wouldn’t hurt. She loved strong women.

“Sure,” she said. She downed the rest of her cider in a couple quick gulps, letting the alcohol coat her throat and giving her a nice buzz. That would be enough for the night; she wasn’t a big drinker, anyway, and she’d need to drive herself home in a couple hours. The woman, who was an inch or two shorter than her, smiled appreciatively as Clara offered her hand. Together, they moved between the writhing bodies and Clara let the woman guide her hips back. They both rocked to the music – Mary J. Blige was crooning now – and Clara pressed her butt back against the woman, enjoying how sturdy and solid the woman’s arms were as her body enveloped Clara’s. Clara’s shirt rode up slightly, and the woman’s fingers pressed into the soft dips of her abdomen just beneath her jeans, hot breath tickling Clara’s ear.

It felt good; holy even: to be held by a woman like this, beneath twinkling lights on Christmas Eve, after days of biting her tongue, clenching her fists, and pretending to be fine when all she wanted to do was scream. Here, now, she could rest. She could be held, by firm hands and gentle rhythms.

When the song ended, Clara turned and smiled at the woman who held her. She was just about to offer her name, when she saw Iris – laughing. She was standing with two other women, and tossing her long brown hair back, a sound boisterous and full of life reaching Clara above the din. Like a spell, it made her own breath falter, and she excused herself from her dance partner, a gentle apology murmured as she walked, as in a trance, toward the woman who had invited her here to begin with.

When she saw her, Iris’s already mirthful eyes lit up. “You came!”

Clara smiled shyly. “Yeah. I was gonna text you.” She glanced at the other two women, who were smiling at the two of them knowingly. One even gave a surreptitious wink to Iris, who pretended not to notice.

“Well, you two have fun,” one of Iris’s friends chirped. She glanced toward the dance floor, and Clara noticed her eyes land on the woman she’d been dancing with, who was now texting on her phone.

“She’s a good dancer,” Clara said with encouragement.

“I bet she is,” Iris’s friend responded before making a beeline to the dance floor. The other friend followed, giggling as she sipped at her own drink.

“They’re my best friends,” Iris said, by way of introduction. “That’s Liz, dancing with your former dance partner, and Aubrey, with the drink in her hand.”

“They seem nice,” Clara answered. She was happy to be conversational, but she couldn’t keep herself from watching Iris’s eyes, noticing the slight quirk of her lips, the way she tucked her hair behind her ears, or wrinkled her nose. She hadn’t been imagining it in the post-Evangelical haze of Grandma Belinda’s house: Iris was stunning. “Do you want to dance?”

“Oh!” Iris said. Suddenly, she seemed shy. “I, um. This is kind of silly but I…don’t really love to dance.”

Clara raised her eyebrows. “Ah. Well, um…” She looked around and saw, near the back of the room, a circle of soft bean bags with a table in the middle. A few people were standing around it, talking, but the seats were empty. “Do you want to sit together, then?” She hoped her suggestion didn’t sound ridiculous.

Iris’s eyes softened. “Yes, I’d love that.”

Feeling bold, Clara offered her hand and Iris grasped it willingly. Hand-in-hand, they made their way together to the bean bags and Clara waited for Iris to sit before she sat down beside her. She noticed, then, a pack of cards and reached for them automatically. She loved cards. Like her dad, she could be an absolute beast when she wanted to be. You’re impressing a lady, she admonished herself. Be nice. “Do you want to play anything?”

“Speed?”

“Yes!” Clara cried. She set up the cards and they began to play; of course, it turned out that Clara didn’t need to be nice. Iris could very easily hold her own. By their third game, they were both screaming in delight, this time as Clara smacked her hand down. “Speed!” She cried. “Speed!”

Iris sighed dramatically. Then she rolled her eyes, gently snatching the cards from beneath Clara’s palm and rearranging them into a deck. “Fine! You won two games!”

“Technically, that makes me the winner all-around. Best two out of three.” Clara waggled her brows and Iris narrowed her eyes, leaning forward so that Clara nearly had to lie back.

“You’re awfully proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Iris asked, her lips mere inches from Clara’s.

Clara grinned and pushed herself up, so that their lips were nearly touching. “Yes. Very.”

Suddenly, they both seemed to realize exactly what position they were in. Iris’s breath became shallow as her eyes darted between Clara’s brown irises and her lips. Clara felt her heart rate quicken. She ducked her head low and let her cheek brush against the other woman’s before letting her lips gently touch the corner of her mouth.

Iris pulled back. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Where?”

Iris stood and grabbed Clara’s hand, pulled her up and along behind her as she made her way quickly to a hidden corner of the warehouse, where no one could see them.

“You know this place pretty well,” Clara said softly.

“I was looking for the bathroom earlier,” Iris answered as she turned to face her. She said it quickly, like she was distracted. She ran a nervous hand through her hair as she watched Clara, like she was figuring out how to ask for permission to – to –

“Kiss me,” Clara said. Iris let loose a ragged breath and grasped Clara’s face, pressing her lips against her with such force that that Clara fell back against the wall.

“Are you okay?” Iris asked, breaking away.

“I’m fine,” Clara said hurriedly, pulling Iris back in for another kiss, this one deeper, longer. Their mouths fought for purchase, for skin, for contact. Still holding her against the wall, Iris’s lips trailed from Clara’s to the spot beneath her ear, eliciting a soft moan. At the sound, Iris’s grip on Clara’s waist tightened; she pulled her closer, and moved lower, to an expanse of skin beneath Clara’s chin, her teeth grazing for gentle nips before her tongue gently soothed them.

“God, Iris,” Clara gasped out.

Iris twisted her hand into the bottom of Clara’s shirt, and she buried her forehead in her neck. “Goddamn,” Iris whispered. They stayed like that for just a moment, before Iris released the bottom of Clara’s shirt and pushed her against the wall once more, Clara wrapping her arms around Iris’s shoulders, both of them pressed so tightly against one another, and yet neither having nearly enough proximity, enough friction, enough –

Iris pulled back and reached for Clara’s jeans, fumbling for the button clasp. Sharply, Clara’s senses came back to her. She placed her hand on Iris’s.

“Sorry,” Iris said automatically. She pulled away, put both hands up. “Sorry, I should have asked –”

“It’s fine,” Clara said. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, still feeling good, feeling light. “I just…” Now she felt sheepish. She opened her eyes and looked at Iris’s concerned ones. “I don’t, uh…know you. Like that.”

Iris blushed furiously, light pink dusting across her pale brown cheeks. “That’s very true.”

Clara leaned her head back and caught her breath. She knew this was a common thing for people; that sex could be fun, easy. Simple. But it never had been, for her. People were generally okay with it, if a little sexually frustrated in the moment, but Iris was a stranger. Perhaps sex was the only reason she’d invited Clara out tonight. That made sense, right? It was normal, and totally fine. Clara stood up straighter, and fixed her shirt. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I wasn’t trying to lead you on.”

Iris frowned – a genuine, confused frown. “‘Lead me on’?” She cocked her head, still looking confused. “You have the right to say no. I’m not upset.”

Clara bit her lip. Her nerves were getting the best of her, and she suddenly felt like a young girl. “Really?”

“Oh, Clara.” Iris giggled a little. “Can I hug you?”

Clara shook her head, but found herself saying, “Sure. I would like that.”

Iris stepped forward and pulled Clara against her again, tucking her nose into the crook of Clara’s neck. Clara hugged her back, letting the soft weight of Iris’s body sink into her, letting herself feel warm and, once again, held. They stayed like that for a moment; then another. Then Clara pulled away, looking up into Iris’s eyes, which were still warm, still just as present and focused as they had been when Clara first approached.

“So…uh.” Clara cleared her throat. “I would still very much like to kiss you. If that’s still in the cards.”

Iris’s eyes widened and then darkened once more. “Oh, I think we can arrange something.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“So, why don’t you like to dance?” Clara asked an hour later, as the two of them lay snuggled up on the bean bags, lazily playing a game of war, while the party continued on around them. Another couple had found the bean bags across from them, fondling each other aggressively between playful barks of “Oh my god, you’re bad!” and gasps of “We shouldn’t do that here. Oh, but that…”

Iris and Clara exchanged a glance, like a secret passing between them. Then they laughed, and Iris snuggled deeper into the nook beneath Clara’s arm, dropping a queen onto her ten. “Never been good at it, I guess.”

“I can’t believe that,” Clara said.

“Oh, you should ask my ex,” Iris said. “She said I danced like cardboard.”

“Well, then, I guess she sucked,” Clara said matter-of-factly, just as her phone started to buzz. She picked it up and wrinkled her nose. “It’s my sister.”

Iris looked down at her own phone. “It’s about 1am.”

Clara nodded and answered the call. “Hey, Mira. I’m alive.”

“Good,” Mira whispered on the other end. “Having fun?”

Clara looked down at Iris, who smiled back at her softly. “Yes. Very much so.”

“Still planning to make it home soon?”

Clara sighed dramatically. Right, yes. ‘Home.’ To Grandmother Belinda and the House of Judgement. The outfit Mira had given her was a nice gesture, but Clara was still so planning to hold this over Mira’s head. For years. “I guess so.”

Mira heard her resignation over the phone. “I’m sorry, Sis. Seriously. Frank looked at the flights – we could go home Christmas night without giving up our mortgage payment. I’ll cover yours and Dad’s flight, too.”

Clara nodded to herself and then, realizing Mira couldn’t see her, she answered: “Tomorrow is good. I’d genuinely rather be in an airport than with Grandma. But don’t worry about the cost – you’ve got a little one on the way. I’m sure Dad will say the same.”

Mira made an indistinguishable sound. “Let’s talk about it when you get back. Text me when you’re on your way.”

When they hung up, Iris touched Clara’s arm. “You’re not staying in Euclid?”

Clara winced, feeling a sudden sense of guilt, and regret. “Nah. My family is…”

“I get it.” Iris said. “In that case, I’m glad you’re not sticking around.” She sat up straight and faced Clara fully. “But this was fun. Really.” She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Clara’s lips. “I’m glad you came out tonight.”

Clara chased Iris’s lips with another soft kiss. “I’m glad you invited me.”

They sat for a moment, just watching each other’s gaze. Then, Iris seemed struck with an idea. “Hey, it’s after midnight, right?”

Clara nodded.

“So, let me give you a little Christmas gift.”

“What would that be?”

Iris kissed her again. “It’s a surprise.”

Clara breathed in slowly, letting the cold air and the fresh scent of snow-covered trees fill her senses. As the sun rose over Lake Erie, she watched in awe, certain she’d never seen anything like it in her life. Then again, even living in Los Angeles, she wasn’t one to drive to the beach just to watch the sunrise. But as Iris leaned against her, her head tucked up beneath Clara’s ear, she thought there was absolutely no other place in the world she’d rather be on Christmas morning.

Mira hadn’t exactly been thrilled when Clara told her she’d be out later than expected, but with enough promises as to her safety, Clara was given free range. Now, from the open trunk of her car, she and Iris watched as a flight of birds took off over the water.

“So, that’s how I ended at the dispensary this past year,” Iris finished, sipping on a cup of hot cocoa they’d picked up on the way. Then she offered Clara another pass of that fateful joint she’d purchased hours before.

Clara took a deep inhale and breathed out. “Do you mainly paint, or do you like other types of art?”

“All kinds,” Iris answered. “I meet a lot of different people through my day job, though, and you’d be surprised how many mural opportunities I’ve been getting lately.”

“I’d love to see your work, sometime,” Clara offered as she took another puff and passed it back.

Iris smiled. “Maybe sometime, then.” She took a final puff and then announced, “That’s the last of it.” She reached down, struck off the ash in the snow, and then lay the joint aside in the backseat. She rubbed her gloved hands together and then let herself fall back against Clara’s shoulder, as if it were something she’d done a hundred times before. Clara pulled her back to her and pressed a kiss against her temple.

“Okay, we’ll hit the road in an hour or so, once I come down off the high,” she said.

“Okay.” Iris sighed contentedly. “And you? Do you like accounting?”

Clara laughed. “I guess. I don’t dislike it.”

“Do you like numbers?”

Clara hummed thoughtfully. “I do. They make sense, in a concrete way. Like a puzzle. There’s always an answer.”

Iris looked up at her. “You prefer certainty?”

Clara dipped her head low and pulled her back in for a slow, languid kiss. “No,” she whispered against her mouth. “Just clarity.” She brushed her nose against Iris’s and they settled back into each other. Quietly, they watched the sun rise higher into the sky as a row of geese treaded from the snow into the water, diving one after another for something they’d found beneath the surface. “Thank you for bringing me here,” Clara said. “Who would have thought Ohio could be so gorgeous?”

Iris stifled a laugh. “I am from here, you know. I don’t think it’s too terrible.”

Clara blushed. “Sorry. You’re right. I just associate it with people I don’t want to associate with.”

Iris nodded thoughtfully and brushed her knuckles along Clara’s cheek. “You’re a good sister.”

Clara grinned. “I really am.”

Iris laughed and Clara kissed her forehead again, like she’d done it a hundred times before. “You know,” Iris said quietly. “I wouldn’t mind visiting Los Angeles every once in a while.”

Clara looked down at her. “No?”

“Mm-mm. Always wanted to see it. I mean, the Cavs are an excellent team, but to see the Lakers in their home gym would be kind of epic. I know you don’t know basketball –,” she playfully gave Clara the stank eye, “but we could always go to a game together. If you want.”

“I would like that,” Clara said hoarsely. Then cleared her throat and said it again, more clearly. “I would really like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Clara said. “Really.” Then, as if remembering where she was, she looked down at her phone. “Damn. I, um, should get back to the house. Make a show of celebrating with the fam, at least. One last time.” She snickered at the last part.

Iris nodded, though she couldn’t quite hide her sadness. “Of course. Me too. My brothers will be expecting me for breakfast.”

“Mickey’s famous French toast,” Clara said, remembering.

“That’s right,” Iris smiled. “Can’t miss it.”

“Of course.”

They stared at one another, the sunlight dancing in Clara’s eyes, Iris’s nose wrinkling against the biting cold. Clara leaned forward, and Iris met her, their lips pulling and pressing, teeth against skin, Clara’s fingers clutching Iris’s parka, and Iris’s finding skin beneath the collar of Clara’s coat. Their hearts beat fast, a rhythm that echoed in their ears, beating out a memory they’d have for years to come.

When they finally pulled away, Clara asked “What are you doing for lunch?” at the same time Iris said, “I think I’m free after breakfast.” They laughed, and they kissed, and they held each other again.

“I want to see you again,” Clara said, confidently. “Before I leave tomorrow.”

“I think I want to see you after that, too,” Iris said.

Clara’s eyes searched hers and she smiled, grinned, against the cold wind and the beckon of her grandmother’s house, a dreary, unforgiving place that had nonetheless brought her a warm and unexpected gift. “Me too.” She kissed Iris and kissed her again. “Merry Christmas, Iris.”

Suddenly, Iris shivered as the wind picked up. Both their eyes opened and they looked up as the first snow of the morning began to fall. Iris laughed, and pulled Clara in again, kissing away the snowflakes that fell on her face. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Clara.”

Once the high had passed and the snow had settled and breakfast gave way to lunch, which gave way to days of texting, and months of calls, and one year of dating, then another, and the next, Clara looked down at the sleeping form of Iris beside her, watching as the sun rose once more through the window of their shared apartment in Los Angeles, and Christmas morning came to them once more.

She’d have to get up soon, to pick up Mira, Frank, and her nibling, Jordan, from the train station, but Clive was already at a café around the corner, picking up Christmas bagels and coffee. All four of Iris’s brothers were in town, too, plus their wives and kids, and they’d joining them at the Lakers game that evening; of course, she and Iris already had season passes.

Iris must’ve felt her staring, because she stirred gently and then blinked open her eyes. “Baby?” She yawned. “You good?”

“I’m great,” Clara said. She ran her fingers over her girlfriend’s soft brown skin. “Just enjoying the best gift ever.”

Iris giggled and rolled her eyes as she stretched. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” Clara said. “You are the the best gift ever. And I love you.”

Iris’s sleepy expression softened and she pulled Clara down to her, rolling her over so she straddled Clara’s hips. “You are such a romantic.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Iris let her fingers slip beneath Clara’s tank top, fingers spreading against her skin, and then gently pulling at her waistband. “No,” Iris whispered, before lowering her lips to Clara’s bare skin.

“Hey, baby?” Clara gasped out softly, her hips raising slightly against her girlfriend's mouth.

“Mm?”

“Remember when I told you, all those years ago, that I didn’t know you well enough for, uh…?”

“Mhm…”

Clara sat up on her elbows and then let her breath tickle her girlfriend’s ear. “You still wanna get to know me better?”

Iris giggled and pushed her back down. “Absolutely.”

An hour later, as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, trading kisses lazily as sunlight streamed in through their window, Iris gently pulled away and traced her fingers across Clara’s lips. “Merry Christmas, baby,” she whispered softly.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” Clara said blissfully. “Merry Christmas.”

If you enjoyed this story, consider buying I’LL BE GONE FOR CHRISTMAS from your favorite indie bookstore. If you’ve already read it, consider recommending it to a friend!