The Things She Kept

by Rosalie Marie Whitton

  She finally admits that she is not. Not even remotely in the same zip code as ‘okay’. She calls it what it is, a panic attack, because Willa seems concerned that she might have been assaulted or something, which she wasn’t, except mentally and emotionally. Willa offers to pick her up and Riley needs the out so badly that she barely protests at all.

  ***

  Riley looks too small and too pale when Willa pulls around to the frat house. It’s spring but in the twenties, and she’s got her little brown peacoat pulled so tightly around her that all that’s visible is her face, under her beanie, almost as pale as the snow. Despite the number of times Riley has already reassured her that nobody did anything to her, Willa’s fighting back the urge to lock her in the car and wreak havoc inside Kappa Alpha like a protective Hulk.

  She doesn’t do it because she doesn’t want to leave Riley alone even for a second to find a frat bro to punch in the mouth. Riley heads for the car, but Willa hops out and meets her halfway and hugs her for the first time, all embarrassment and hesitance forgotten for the time being. For a second Riley is limp in her arms and then hugs her back.

  “I’m sorry,” Riley says, already for the fourth time, and Willa shushes her like a child.

  “Let’s get some takeout or something. Okay?”

  “Courtney will kill me when I show back up,” Riley realizes, eyes wide, and Willa suggests the plan without realizing the implications, something she knows immediately she’ll either regret or thank herself for later.

  “Come to my place for a while, then. Nobody has to know you even left the party. We’ll have our own party. Takeout and Netflix and I’ll buy some Axe to spray on you so you come back smelling like the frats.”

  Riley cracks a smile. For the punch line, at the stoplight Willa turns and grabs her Badgers hat out of the backseat, puts it on backwards, and revs her Jeep’s engine like a sports car. Riley’s smile breaks into a laugh and, and the light turns green, it’s the first time that Willa admits to herself how much trouble she’s actually in.

  ***

  They end up getting Chinese food. Willa makes Riley let her guess at what her usual dish is. She tries for something healthy- chicken with vegetables- and is surprised when the real answer is much less healthy and much more sweet.

  “Sesame chicken? Like, honey sauce and all?”

  “I don’t think it’s honey,” Riley replies, “but yeah.”

  If Riley is surprised by the big Pride flag hanging on her wall next to the US flag, she doesn’t spare it more than a glance. They’re situated on either side of the skylight that Willa considers the only upside to her awkward loft apartment above the Game Stop. At least, though, there’s not a restaurant underneath her, stinking up the whole loft.

  “It’s homey,” she says, drawing her feet up under her on her chair, “you know? Kind of weird to have my bed and living room and kitchen all in one room. I want a house, like a little further out in the city, so I can have a yard and a dog or something.”

  “Or something?”

  Riley grins in that self-deprecating way that lets Willa know there’s a joke coming.

  “What, like a llama?”

  She laughs; Willa purposely doesn’t and gets very ‘serious’.

  “Dude, don’t joke. Do you know someone who sells them? Because I would buy one.”

  Joking with Riley is easy like that. Willa forgets a lot of things when they’re alone together, but she doesn’t forget the circumstances, and when they’re full and warm and the table is cleared, when they’ve moved to the couch and Riley looks comfortable and calm, she brings it up again. Tentatively. Like stepping on thin pond ice and knowing she’ll fall in even if she’s careful.

  “I know you said nobody... did anything, or whatever, but I’m just... I need you to know that if you were afraid to tell me or something, not to be.”

  Riley colors. The foot or so between them on the couch at once feels like too much space and too little space. Willa can’t decide whether she’d prefer them to be touching or across the room from each other.

  “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  It makes Willa angry and panicky to think what that sentence might mean, so she reaches out to close the space between them and touch Riley’s knee, promising herself that she’s doing it for the comfort of one person to another person, not from one woman to another woman.

  “Neither did you,” she says vehemently, and Riley looks up into her face, and then it’s for sure that they ought to be a room apart.

  “No, I mean he literally didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t touch me without consent or threaten to or anything like that. He liked me and he was trying to flirt with me- he didn’t even offer to get me a drink because he knew that would have been sketchy. He was really nice, and he smelled really nice, and,” Willa isn’t sure she wants to hear the rest anymore- for a completely different reason- but she doesn’t interrupt, “he was just talking to me when I had the panic attack. I freaked myself out. It wasn’t him at all.”

  Willa forces herself to be quiet. She thinks about her breathing for a second and tries to decide whether or not to move her hand. It seems like it was a bad idea to touch Riley in the first place, but it also seems like she hasn’t quite noticed it, and moving away would just draw attention to it, so she leaves her hand where it is and does her best to ignore what warmth she can feel through the denim of Riley’s jeans. Here’s where it gets tricky- she’s either about to fall over or find that she’s safer than she thinks.

  “Am I allowed to ask why you didn’t just let him pick you up?”

  ***

  The seconds right after Willa’s questions feel like hours. Riley knows the answer, obviously, and knows that she wants to tell it. She tries to find something in Willa’s face that might tell her that she doesn’t have to tell it, but all that’s there is honest curiosity. Her next thought moves her eyes from Willa’s eyes to her lips in a flicker that she hopes will go unnoticed at the exact moment that she realizes it won’t. In her economics class they called this the ‘saddle point’. The determining point. Either she’ll let it go and never know the outcome, or she’ll kiss Willa.

  Which is what she does. Feeling a thrill at her own courage and absolute stupidity, hyperaware of Willa’s outstandingly large hand on her knee, she closes her eyes and leans in and hopes it’ll somehow just happen. It does, of course, the way kissing always has, in her experience, only better because it’s Willa and her lips are so soft and so familiar somehow that Riley almost doesn’t notice that she doesn’t kiss her back.

  She barely has time to panic and pull away before Willa’s hand leaves her knee for the back of her neck and they’re kissing again.

  It’s overwhelmingly good. Riley literally can’t stop to think about any of it because she’s too busy just being there, her hand on Willa’s elbow in an attempt to be a participant. She doesn’t have to do much; Willa is into it, but gentle about it, and goes slowly when her hand moves from Riley’s neck to her shoulder to her collar, with absolutely no indication she’s planning on going any further.

  They pull apart and Riley almost asks if Willa gets the answer now. Instead she goes back in, smiling giddily, and they kiss for a while longer until she finally manages to get her arms around Willa’s neck. Then, conveniently, they pull apart again. This time they pull apart properly, their hands back to their own spaces.

  Willa licks her lips unconsciously and Riley feels a little warm and a lot surprised.

  “Do you need to go back?”

  “Do you- I mean, do you want me to?”

  “No!”

  Willa laughs, blushing a little, and Riley notices it and wonders at the fact that Willa wants to kiss her. Has kissed her. Likes her, even. It just seems like such a happy accident.

  “No, I...obviously would love for you to stay.”

  She doesn’t take anything from that other than the obvious- that she’s being offered the couch for the night- but Willa blushes harde
r and holds out her hands and gets incredibly flustered in a way Riley’s never seen her before, ever.

  “I don’t mean, you know, that I’m expecting- or that I’d want to- just that I would, you know, gladly take the couch for the night, if you didn’t want to go back…”

  A few things happen at once. One is that Riley starts to feel that thing low in her stomach again that she remembers feeling that time Willa got too close squeezing past her at the gym. Another is that she can’t hold back her laughter at seeing Willa so concerned over the implications she imagined from something that was totally innocuous. Another is maybe that she thinks for a second about those implications.

  ***

  Willa has about a half a second to be concerned about what the laughing might mean before Riley takes her face in her hands and kisses her again. It seems like a much better way of communicating than talking, especially now, now that she can openly admit that kissing Riley is something she thinks about a lot, and something worth thinking about a lot. It’s perfect, because it’s all very chaste and fun, and because Willa is fairly convinced that this is the longest anyone has ever kissed her without trying to stick their tongue in her mouth. Not that she would mind, just that it’s nice to know that Riley’s a good kisser without it.

  It takes a lot of bravery to reach for Riley and pull her closer, but eventually the instinct to do it outweighs the reluctance, and Willa wraps her arms around Riley’s waist and moves her closer on the couch more easily than she thought she would. Riley is small. Strong and wiry, but still so small, small enough that Willa’s arms go all the way around her easily enough that she can feel the breath coming in and out, can feel Riley’s ribcage expanding with each little breath she takes between kisses.

  Riley is very hesitant with her hands, and if Willa didn’t like having her in her arms she would have tried to fix that a while back. Not that she doesn’t think it’s cute, because she does. It is very cute how Riley’s hands have stayed on her face, because every once in a while she can feel the stroke of a thumb over her cheekbone. It also has the effect of making her feel like Riley is super into the whole kissing thing.

  She’s surprised when she feels the ridge of Riley’s front teeth just barely touch her lower lip. She thinks it might have been an accident until it happens again, and when it does he gets dizzy with the realization that it’s on purpose and tips them forward. She overshoots a little, forgetting again how small Riley is, and it’s not a slow fall that leaves them horizontal. It’s all of a sudden, and it results in them pulling apart, and Riley’s hands leaving her face to top it all off. Riley herself is flushed and wide-eyed. The look of mild surprise on her face and the way her hands are held up like she’s being robbed is sobering, and Willa sits up in an attempt to put some space between them. She’s kneeling between Riley’s legs, now, which is actually, in a way, worse than hovering over her, because it’s so obvious.

  “I’ll take the couch,” she says, offering a hand to help Riley back up, but trying to avoid full eye contact at the same time. Rushing it is the last thing she wants to do. She doesn’t even know if Riley likes girls- she doesn’t know any of the story, really. And for some reason now she’s thinking of Quentin and feeling guilty.

  “It’s your place, sleep in your own bed.”

  Riley’s rebuttal is quiet, like she doesn’t really quite mean it, and Willa waves it off with a smile.

  “Please. This is the most comfortable couch in the world, I’m keeping the best bed for myself.”

  ***

  Willa scrounges up an extra toothbrush for her, which is just waiting under her sink in a pack of three. Riley isn’t sure whether this means she frequently has overnight guests or is just really prepared, and is too out of her head to decide which one seems more feasible. They stand hip-to-hip in the little one-person bathroom, and Riley’s shoulders hit just above the middle of Willa’s upper arms. They make eye contact in the mirror; Riley grins and it makes Willa laugh and spew toothpaste all over the place.

  She gets an old t-shirt and some leggings to change into, too, since she’s still in her ‘party’ shirt and nice jeans. The leggings are big, but the shirt is huge, probably even big on Willa, a faded navy blue with cracked yellow letters spelling NASA out on the front. For a second Riley just stands and looks at herself in the just-cleaned mirror. She tries to see what Willa sees and can’t come up with much. She supposes in the right light, in her party outfit, she was cute enough to kiss. Willa, to her, is on a completely different level. She feels as if she’s just made some kind of upgrade but isn’t sure how to word it even in her own head.

  When she gets out, Willa’s already set up on the couch. It’s too short for her, so her socked feet are propped up on one of the arms. The only light is from the lamp on the bedside table. Willa looks soft and sleepy in that light, with one arm behind her head and the other resting over her stomach. For a split second Riley wants to fit herself between the back of the couch and Willa’s side. Just stick herself up under Willa’s arm and rest against her, like-

  Whatever. That’s dumb.

  “This shirt is massive.”

  “My dad’s, that’s why. It looks better on you, though.”

  It’s stupid, but Riley blushes at it anyway, and Willa grins at her.

  ***

  “Goodnight.”

  “Night, champ.”

  “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Willa wakes up by eight. She’s stiff from the awkward way she slept on the couch, still on her back with one arm shoved between the back of the couch and the seat cushion, the other slung over the edge, her knuckles brushing the floor. Her neck feels like someone has stuck a metal pin in it, but when she sits up there’s a smile on her face.

  It’s not a surprise that Riley’s still asleep, considering last night. It’s Riley herself that’s the surprise. Willa, from where she’s sitting, can see Riley still curled up on her side, taking up as little space as possible with one arm under her pillow and the other clutching the blanket to her as if someone might steal it off of her. It hurts her head to think about the fact that Riley kissed her first, mostly because she’s reminded of the fact that she screwed it up and went too fast.

  Instead of thinking about it she decides to make breakfast.

  ***

  Riley wakes up and the world is shaking. Not shaking- bouncing- and it takes her a second to remember whose bed she’s in, and another to realize that she feels like she’s on a trampoline because Willa is jumping on the bed.

  “Getup getup getup getup!”

  Riley scrambles to get her pillow, and, before she’s awake enough to feel embarrassment, takes Willa’s legs right out from underneath her. Willa topples, laughing, and lands lying half over Riley’s legs; when she sits up their faces are close and Riley is dizzy with how much has happened before she’s even properly remembered who she is.

  “Hi.”

  They regard each other in a silence she thinks holds some kind of promise she can’t decipher yet. Willa reaches out and grabs a strand of her hair between her thumb and forefinger and her smile changes. It’s hard to really get, but there’s a change, a softening.

  “Hi.”

  “I made breakfast.”

  Remembering last night makes Riley brave enough, for just a fraction of a second, to return contact. She touches Willa’s wrist, and at first it looks as if Willa is taking her hand away, but then she just turns it over and touches their palms together. It’s like electricity is shared that way, enough that Riley almost wonders whether or not one of them had some build up static charge. Willa watches their hands; Riley watches Willa. The heels of their palms press together like they’re measuring against each other, and Willa’s fingers bend right over the top of hers at the last knuckle.

  Their fingers slip together and Riley’s breath hitches, embarrassingly. Willa grins at her.

  “You hungry?”

  ***

  They don’t talk while they e
at. It’s comfortable, but it’s also difficult, because Willa’s trying to mind-read. It’s something she’s used to getting herself in trouble for. She needs to ask but she’s too afraid of the answer to chance it; she’d rather let Riley lead her on than know for sure whether this is all on her end. At least then she gets to pretend for a while. Even if it hurts worse after.

  She needs to stop with the straight girls.

  She decides she’s not going to initiate physical contact again. It’ll be up to Riley this time, so if she doesn’t it’ll be an answer, some way or another. She braces herself for that answer. She doubts that Riley is going to touch her on her own. She’s surprised when, without making eye contact, Riley’s foot brushes against hers under the table and then stays there.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Riley admits, picking at her eggs. She seems to have a habit of letting things just sort of drop, over a meal. Willa chokes down some orange juice before she answers.

  “We don’t have to be doing anything.”

  Considering the scrape of her fork against bacon, Riley tilts her head.

  “Do you want to not be doing anything? I mean, because I know that I was the one who...who started it.”

  Willa presses their feet together a little bit more purposefully and forces Riley into making eye contact with her.

  “Nobody ‘starts it’ when it comes to stuff like this, Rilo.”

  Riley’s brows furrow and Willa realizes where the nickname came from- not from her own mouth, but from Quentin’s- and blushes, withdrawing her foot and the eye contact. She can feel Riley’s eye still on her, but she refuses to look up, even when Riley drops her fork and leans forward.

  “Willa. Wil- can I call you Wil? Listen, I’ve never liked another girl before in my life, I don’t know how it works, and I don’t know if you even care or whatever but I feel like maybe you do and I just...am terrible at guessing. So please talk to me.”

  It’s the most Willa has ever heard her say at one time, and it’s a lot all at once, but the part that she gets is enough. She gets up from the table, taking her plate with her, and heads to the sink. She comes back and turns Riley’s chair with her still in it and rests with her hands on Riley’s knees, leaning down, their faces inches apart and Riley’s myopic blinking right in her focus.