Work Text:
New York
Glinda gets back from her lunch break to find a thick manila envelope in the middle of her desk. It’s handwritten and addressed to Shiz Publishing–the return address isn’t one Glinda recognizes. She pushes it aside for now, determined to get a bit of work done before delving into whatever mystery this envelope might hold.
She only remembers to grab it on her way out the door at the end of the day, tossing it into her tote bag and rushing out into the humidity of an August in New York. It’s not until she’s home – freshly showered and barefoot, cornerstore wine poured into a mug – that Glinda rips open the weighty envelope and pulls out… a manuscript. “No Good Deed” is scrawled across the title page.
It’s not unusual. She’s a junior editor; manuscripts come her way all the time. But four hundred printed pages bound by a huge binder clip? That’s unusual. In the handful of years that Glinda’s been in the industry, she’s never received a physical copy of a book. And yet here she sits, a few hundred typed pages sitting in her lap, and no other Friday night plans.
_________
“Who the hell wrote this?” Glinda asks aloud as the clock walks a tightrope between last night and tomorrow morning. Her vision is bleary, glass of wine abandoned hours ago. She hasn’t been able to tear herself away from the pages since she sat down, only standing once to flick on a nearby lamp once the sun gave up on the day.
“No Good Deed.” She flips to the title page, the dedication, the table of contents. There isn’t an author’s name listed anywhere. Just initials: ET. Something flickers inside her chest but she ignores it. Otherwise, the initials don’t ring a bell for Glinda. But the piece is astonishing, it’s brilliantly written, the voice is strong and unique, the characters are intentional and three-dimensional, the plot is there, but the whole story seems more character-driven. It’s not perfect but Glinda wants it.
She’s up the next morning before 7 am to finish the last few chapters.
“I’m buying this book,” Glinda says definitively to the empty air when she finally flips through the epilogue. She grabs her phone and dials.
“Glinda, it’s 8:30 on a Saturday; this better be an emergency.”
“It’s like 60% an emergency,” she confirms. “Do you know anyone currently writing fiction whose initials are ET?”
Fiyero is quiet on the other line for a moment, “Um… Elliott Traiger?”
“Dead.”
“Emma Thomas-Gladstone?”
“Poet.”
“Emilia Trajillio?”
“I think she’s a musician, and might also be dead.”
“I’ve got nothing, then, Glin,” Fiyero admits. “What is this about?”
Glinda shakes her head in amazement even though he can’t see her. “I got a physical manuscript on my desk yesterday and it’s astonishing. But there’s no author – only initials. I’m going crazy trying to figure it out.”
“Weird,” Fiyero agrees. “You gonna buy the rites?”
“A hundred percent. This could be the next…” Glinda racks her brain for an appropriate comparison. “I don’t know. But it’s fucking good.”
“Alright,” Fiyero chuckles at her excitement. “Well, buy the book and meet with the writer. That’s the only way to solve this particular mystery of yours.”
“You’re so right,” Glinda sighs. “What are you doing right now?”
Fiyero stutters. “Uh – I’m in bed. You woke me up.”
“Perfect – wanna get brunch?”
She can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Give me 40 minutes. You’re buying.”
_________
The following Monday finds Glinda standing in Morrible’s office, mystery manuscript clutched tightly in her hands.
“Miss Upland, I understand you’re interested in pursuing this book?” She says with a raised eyebrow but doesn’t look up from her computer.
“Yes, ma’am,” Glinda says, posture strightening. “I think it could be big. Not just big for us, but big in general.”
“And what makes you think you’re prepared to take on this project?” Morrible asks. “You haven’t worked on anything big since—”
“Since Sentimental Man, I know,” Glinda interrupts, frustrated to have the one and only bright spot of her career brought up as a goal post again. “But I really do feel good about this one, ma’am.”
“Who’s the author?”
Glinda hesitates. “Well, that’s the thing…”
“Spit it out, Upland.”
“I don’t know,” Glinda admits quickly. “It’s unsigned, no author, no note, nothing. I don’t even know how it ended up on my desk.”
“I put it there because I didn’t want to deal with it,” Morrible says as though the answer were obvious.
I suppose that’s one mystery solved, Glinda thinks. “Okay, well, I’m going to write to the address listed and see if I can’t get in contact with the writer.”
Morrible finally meets Glinda’s eye with a condescending expression. “That’s a great first step, Miss Upland. Do let me know what you find.” She gestures to the door and Glinda assumes that their meeting is over.
_________
Dear ET,
Thank you for choosing Shiz Publishing for your manuscript of No Good Deed. I do admit, this is an unconventional way to sell your book, but it worked. I was quite taken with this draft and would be pleased to work with you as an editor and have the book published by Shiz. Please do reach out via email (or if you prefer snail mail, I suppose we could do it this way).
If you are in New York, I would like to meet in person.
Thank you again, I look forward to working with you and with this text.
Best,
Glinda Upland
_________
Glinda,
Thank you for your interest in No Good Deed. I am in New York and would be happy to meet to discuss the terms of our partnership.
Friday at 10?
- ET
_________
Friday works. Looking forward to it.
Best,
Glinda Upland
_________
Fiyero slides up next to her as Glinda walks back to her office from the copy machine. “You weren’t lying,” he says, waving the anonymous manuscript between them, “This is very extraordinary.”
Glinda hums, “I’m sitting down with this ET guy tomorrow if you want in on the meeting,” she offers.
Fiyero arches an eyebrow, “Oohh, the mystery writer. You’ll let me be a fly on the wall?”
“Might be good to have someone else just in case they’re weird or something.”
“I’ll be there,” Fiyero agrees, peeling off to go to his own office.
“10:00 – conference room C!” Glinda calls after him.
_________
Glinda is, of course, late. Absorbed in another project, Glinda doesn’t look up until her office phone rings loudly.
“Upland,” she chirps into the receiver.
“Yeah…” It’s Fiyero. “I’d get down to conference room C if I were you.”
“Shit. Stall them. I’ll be there in one and a half minutes.”
“Glin—” she slams the phone down before Fiyero can start his next sentence and she’s grabbing the now-famous manuscript and rushing to the elevator, smoothing her blouse as the floors tick down.
And then she’s bursting into the room, eyes so focused on Fiyero’s anxious expression, that she fails to see the woman seated across the table.
“Yero, what—” He just inclines his head slightly and Glinda’s gaze swings across the room to land on Elphaba Thropp.
The breath is gone from her body. The marrow of her is briefly replaced by ice. The tendons that connect her heart to the rest of her are pulled taut.
“Elphie?” She asks and immediately wants to melt into the floor. All three of them are equally surprised by the nickname that falls from Glinda’s mouth.
Elphaba arches one perfect eyebrow and Glinda swears she sees a flash of amusement in her dark eyes.
“Galinda,” Elphaba starts, but the blonde cuts her off sharply.
“It’s Glinda now.”
“I apologize. Glinda.” The name sounds foreign in Elphaba’s mouth. She clears her throat, “Thanks for meeting with me,” she begins again and suddenly it all makes sense. The writing that she was so taken by but didn’t recognize, the return address without an agent listed, the envelope ending up on Glinda’s desk. ET.
Wow, Glinda thinks, Can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.
But she didn’t see it coming. So bursting into a room that contained Elphaba Thropp with only Fiyero as backup felt like an exquisite sort of trap. A personal, private torture. But Glinda does what she has always done: straightens her spine, looks at Elphaba, and lies.
“I’m glad we could find a time,” she says, her voice the picture of professionalism. “As I mentioned in my note, I was struck by the work. If we can agree on a price, I’d like to discuss the option of Shiz Publishing purchasing your manuscript. Then I’d work with your agent and we can hammer out a final copy.”
“I don’t have an agent,” Elphaba says.
“Okay,” Glinda concedes, “Then whoever you work with.”
“There’s nobody else. No one represents me. I’ll be working directly with your editor to finalize the text,” she says tersely.
Glinda pauses, looking up from her notes. “It’s not normally done this way.”
“I’m aware.”
“And are you aware that Shiz is a small, independent publishing house?” Glinda asks. “This isn’t Penguin or HarperCollins.”
“That’s why I picked it,” Elphaba says, tone still flat, giving away nothing.
Glinda wants desperately to ask, Did you pick Shiz for its reputation or because you knew this project would land in my lap? Did you do this to punish me? She bites her tongue and instead says, “If you were to publish with Shiz, then you would be working directly with me.”
“I’ve read some of the other things you’ve published. I think it suits my style,” Elphaba admits. “If you’re comfortable working through edits with me, I see no reason why I should sell my book elsewhere.”
Glinda takes a breath that’s much too deep and tries to ignore the looming presence of Fiyero behind her, though she wonders distantly just how much of the tension in the room he’s picking up on. “I’ll draft up an agreement, then,” Glinda says, voice thin. “Do you have an actual email address or shall we continue with the cloak and dagger act?”
Elphaba actually smiles at this, and the ice returns to Glinda’s veins. Something heavy sits in her chest. Elphaba writes down her email in a familiar scrawled script and tears off the corner of her page before sliding it across the table to Glinda. “I’m looking forward to working with Shiz.”
“Fiyero will show you out,” Glinda says, unable to meet Elphaba’s hard gaze. Fiyero gives her a curious look, but holds the door for Elphaba and Glinda can hear their muted conversation through the closed door.
“It’s nice to see you again, Elphaba,” he says sincerely. “And really, the book is incredible. I’m excited we get to publish it.”
“Thanks for saying so,” Elphaba responds softly. She says something after, Glinda thinks she hears her name, but now they’re too far away to make anything out beyond the general quiet hum of a conversation.
Now alone, still seated around the large table, Glinda presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to cry. The last 20 minutes were enough to undo her completely. Something about Elphaba always made her feel unspooled, made her feel slow, like there was a joke flitting around the room that she wasn’t quick enough to pick up on, like she was being played for the fool.
It’s not that Glinda had forgotten about Elphaba. But it’s been nearly five years since they last saw each other – she didn’t know Elphaba was still writing, was writing professionally, was reading the works that Glinda publishes. Seeing her here, in this room, unmistakable as she is – green skin, raven-black hair, face like an axe – Glinda is caught off-guard in a way that made her feel especially stupid.
She presses her fingernails into the palm of her hand so hard it nearly hurts, leaving red crescents littered across her palms. “Fuck,” she whispers to herself, gaze fixed on the scrap of paper with Elphaba Thropp’s email address. “This is another mistake.”
Footsteps from the hall pull her from her self-pity as Fiyero pokes his head back into the room. He’s smiling gently, “I absolutely did not expect that,” he admits.
“Me neither,” Glinda says, gathering her things.
“I don’t think I’ve seen her since college. She looks good, though. And always was very pretty, even despite the green.” Glinda hums noncommittally, letting Fiyero hold the door open as he continues rambling. “You guys were close, right? I had kind of forgotten about her, to be honest. But fuck was she smart. I’m surprised she went the literature route instead of the academic route, but clearly she can write, too.”
“You sure you don’t want to buy her book?” Glinda says, voice empty of its usual joviality.
Fiyero laughs, pressing the elevator button for their floor, “I do, but you already called dibs. And anyway, I’m sure it will be nice to work with an old friend.” Glinda hums again, not saying anything. “What happened with you guys anyway? You were so close in college and then – you weren’t.”
His question sinks something heavy in Glinda’s gut. “Nothing happened, we just—” Blessedly, the elevator doors ding open and someone gets on with them, cutting Glinda’s sentence off. Fiyero narrows his eyes at the blonde but lets it go for now.
_________
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
cc: M.Morrible ([email protected])
Subject: No Good Deed Contract
Elphaba,
Appreciate you coming by today – all of us here at Shiz are looking forward to working with you and with your manuscript. Please review the attached contract and be in touch if you have any questions.
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
To: Glinda Upland ([email protected])
cc: M.Morrible ([email protected])
Subject: re: No Good Deed Contract
Signed. Thanks for taking this project on.
-ET
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
cc: M.Morrible ([email protected])
Subject: re: No Good Deed Contract
Elphaba,
Thank you. I don’t have much to say in terms of developmental editing or critique of the overall structure, but I’ll send over my redlines for chapter one after the weekend.
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
_________
Glinda spends the weekend with the ac blasting and a red pen clutched between her teeth. As much as she was struck by how unconventional it was to send a physical copy of her manuscript, Glinda has always preferred the old-fashioned way of editing. Everything she does is pen to paper, and then she goes through the extra steps of transferring her notes to the redlined document. Perhaps one day, she’ll be able to forgo the pen but, for now, as always, there’s something honest and thoughtful about the physical act of editing that Glinda finds intriguing.
She also finds herself being harsher than she normally would. Red ink flashing more readily across the pages, more slashes, more arrows, more hacking apart of the piece than is strictly necessary but Glinda suddenly can’t help herself. Possessed by a years-long frustration that she’s never quite been able to name, Glinda takes Elphaba’s words apart with brutal efficiency.
The next morning, Glinda pops by Fiyero’s office.
“What’s that one Emily Dickinson quote?” Glinda wonders aloud to him, “I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off. That’s how I feel about this project.”
“I think she was talking about poetry as an art form, not running into an old friend from school,” Fiyero muses, voice edging on laughter. “How’s the first chapter?”
Glinda huffs. “I think I overdid it with the red pen but I got started and couldn’t stop.”
Fiyero looks up at her in the doorway. “As I said the other day, Thropp and I weren’t best friends, but I think I knew her well enough to know that she’s going to be exceptionally pissed off when you send her those line edits.”
“Well,” Glinda says decisively, “I don’t really care if she’s pissed. I’m doing my job.”
“Good luck, Glin.”
_________
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
Subject: Ch 1 Line Edits
Elphaba,
See attached. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to discuss.
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
To: Glinda Upland ([email protected])
Subject: re: Ch 1 Line Edits
Yes, let’s discuss. Can I come by Shiz this afternoon?
- ET
_________
Glinda knocks on Fiyero’s door again after lunch. “You were right, she’s mad.”
“Told you.”
“And she’ll be here in…” Glinda checks her phone, “eleven minutes. Wanna play peacekeeper again?”
Fiyero sighs, “Glinda. You’re an adult, she’s an adult. Go in there and just do your job. I don’t know what went down between you two in college but it’s been years – if you’re still not over it, you never should have taken this contract.”
“Nothing ‘went down,’ Yero. I just don’t appreciate her coming in here telling me how to do my job.”
“Isn’t that your job, though? To work with writers, not slash their texts to ribbons because you didn’t expect to see them?”
Glinda runs her tongue along her teeth, thinking. “I don’t love when you make sense like this.”
“Eventually, if you’re ready, I’m here to listen,” Fiyero says, and Glinda is reminded that there still are genuinely good people in the world as her friend looks at her with compassion and understanding and perhaps just a hint of sorrow.
Glinda opens her mouth to respond but Fiyero nods out the door and behind her. “Punctual as ever.” She glances over her shoulder to find Elphaba leaning against Glinda’s office door frame. Glinda wonders if she’ll ever not feel her breath catch at the sight of the green woman.
Elphaba doesn’t notice her in Fiyero’s office, typing furiously on her phone, brow furrowed. Glinda gives herself one moment to look, struck by how much about Elphaba has changed in the last several years. She’s done away with the sleeveless t-shirts and skin-tight jeans, replaced by a black shirt, buttoned to the collar despite the heat and tucked a pair of navy cords. Fiyero’s right – she looks like she grew up. Though her features have always had a hardness and her eyes always held something that made her seem older than her years.
Glinda shakes herself of the thought, gives Fiyero a tight-lipped smile, and steps out into the hallway.
“Thropp,” Glinda greets the green woman. She snaps her head up from her phone, eyes just as steely and unreadable as always.
“Upland.”
“Hope you weren’t waiting long.”
Elphaba slips her phone back in her pocket and straightens as Glinda pushes open the door to her office, flicking the light back on. “Just got here,” she confirms, even though Glinda watched her arrive.
Glinda settles behind her desk and gestures for Elphaba to take a seat across from her. “What did you want to discuss?” Glinda asks as though she doesn’t already know.
Elphaba is quiet a moment, fixing Glinda with a hard stare. “I thought you liked the draft,” she says by way of explanation.
“I do.”
“So, would you care to explain why you eviscerated the first chapter, then?”
Glinda exhales sharply. “Elphaba, I understand that it might be difficult to have your work critiqued—”
“No,” the green woman interrupts. “What I received in my inbox this morning was not a critique, it was nearly a blood bath.”
Glinda is trying very hard to keep her voice even. “You came to me to do my job. You asked after me specifically.”
“Because I trusted you to do right by my work. Not to turn it inside out, into something basically unrecognizable.”
Glinda sets her jaw, biting the inside of her cheek. “This is how this works, Elphaba. You write it, I edit it, we publish it. Editing is rarely collaborative.”
Elphaba scoffs and something inside Glinda wilts. She feels suddenly like that 20-year-old in class when Elphaba would disagree with her, would cut down her argument with a few concise words. “I’d be willing to bet you don’t do this to the other pieces you work on.”
“Do what?” Glinda asks, voice raised, exasperated now, tossing her hands up.
“This isn’t editing,” Elphaba scorns. She’s not yelling but she’s not far off, either. “At least, it’s not good editing. You redlined the entire chapter.” Elphaba shakes her head as though just realizing something. “If I had to wager a guess, I’d say you’re being overly harsh because it’s me. You loved the piece before I showed up in your office. And now that you know I wrote it, you want to hack it to bits.”
Glinda says nothing and Elphaba continues, voice rising further. “I thought you would have grown up, changed, something. But seems like old habits really do die hard with you, Galinda. I wanted it to be you and I’m disappointed. Again.”
She grabs her bag and stalks out of the room without giving Glinda a chance to respond. It’s only when Elphaba’s down the hall and out of sight that Glinda realizes the door to her office had been open the whole time, as her coworkers in the neighboring offices work, laser-focused on anything but the screaming match that had just ensued.
“Fuck!” Glinda says sharply, figuring she couldn’t do much more damage to her reputation than had already been done.
Fiyero pointedly doesn’t look at her from across the hall.
_________
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected]), Glinda Upland ([email protected])
Subject: No Good Deed Project
Dear Miss Upland and Miss Thropp,
I would urge you both to consider what is at stake with this book deal and act accordingly. I do not like to meddle in the work of my editors, but I could not help but overhear your disagreement this afternoon. I suggest you work out your creative differences immediately and find a solution that allows you to work together like professionals.
If this is impossible, Shiz will be forced to renegotiate this contract. Please do not let it get to that point.
I hope you understand.
Sincerely,
M. Morrible
Executive Editor | Shiz Publishing House
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
Subject:
We need to talk. Can you meet me at the coffee shop around the corner from Shiz after work?
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
_________
Elphaba doesn’t respond to her email but Glinda shows up anyway, figuring she can at least grab a coffee on her way home if the green woman stands her up. She’s not sure if it’s to her dismay or her delight that Elphaba is already there, sitting on the patio with an iced coffee in front of her and her sharp nose buried in a book. Glinda tries not to read into the fact that Elphaba got her drink to-go, ready to flee at any moment. She supposes those habits are hard to kill as well.
Glinda sets her drink down on the small table across from Elphaba, who startles slightly at the intrusion. Glinda drops her bag and sits, once again meeting Elphaba’s guarded gaze. They regard each other silently for a long moment.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Glinda says honestly – perhaps the first honest thing she’s said to the other woman since she showed up in the conference room last week.
“Me neither,” Elphaba admits.
Glinda sighs. “I assume you saw Morrible’s email.”
Elphaba nods slowly, “I did.”
“She’s right… for once.” Elphaba doesn’t smile at Glinda’s joke, but there’s the slightest tension in her cheek that would suggest she may have thought about it. Glinda swallows her pride. “I’m sorry, Elphaba.”
“For what?”
Glinda can’t tell if the green woman doesn’t actually know what Glinda’s apologizing for or if she’s fishing for something else. “For how I acted today. And for those edits. Both were unprofessional. I don’t know what came over me.” The quiet seeps back in momentarily and Glinda fills it, “I want this to work. I’m willing to work with you to get this published. I just need you to meet me in the middle.”
Elphaba nods contemplatively, slowly. “Me too,” is all she says.
Glinda gestures across the table, “Now it’s your turn,” she urges with half a smile.
Elphaba returns the smile with a barely-there quirk of her lips. “I’m sorry, too. I was so far out of line to yell at you at your workplace. It won't happen again, I promise.”
“Thank you,” Glinda says genuinely. “So. How do we make this work?”
Elphaba takes a sip of her drink to buy time. Glinda lets her. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I have a couple collections published but I’ve never written a novel.”
“Collections? Of poems?” Glinda asks, shocked.
“Yeah, that was my concentration, if you recall.” Glinda knows that much, remembers Elphaba reading poetry endlessly, but didn’t know she wrote it. “Anyway,” Elphaba moves on, “I don’t exactly know what works best for me as a long-form writer. I tend to prefer not working digitally.”
“Me too,” Glinda agrees. “I do all my edits on paper and then transfer to a document. It’s a pain in the ass.”
Elphaba nods, gears turning. “Okay. So. What if we do it that way?” She asks.
“What way?”
“What if we meet once or twice a week to go over your edits. That way we can fight about it in person, on paper, like civilized professionals,” she smirks, and Glinda hates herself for laughing.
“Alright,” the blonde agrees. “Let’s start with once a week and see if that allows us a decent rhythm. When are you free?”
“I’m a writer, I am literally always free.”
Glinda finds herself smiling again, against her will. “I have standing Thursday night drinks with Fiyero after work but that’s my only major commitment. Can we shoot for Fridays?”
“Works for me,” Elphaba says, finally agreeable.
“Great. There’s a bar like two blocks from here – The Peach & Kidney. They’ve got a great happy hour.”
“Fridays at The Peach & Kidney. I’ll be there,” Elphaba promises.
Glinda smiles again, “Look at us being civil.”
Elphaba does that infuriating non-smile again and stands abruptly, grabbing her book and her drink. “See you on Friday, Upland,” she says, rapping a knuckle on the tabletop as she peels away.
It’s not much, the air still thrums with distrust and unforgotten hurts. But it’s better than shouting at each other.
At home that night, Glinda lies in bed, sleep a distant hope. The only thing she hears, reverberating in her mind over and over: I wanted it to be you and I’m disappointed. Again.
Sleep finds her eventually, well into the morning, and her dreams feel underwater, voices and faces distorted. The only thing she can make out when she wakes is Elphaba’s voice repeating: I wanted it to be you and I’m disappointed. Again.
Again.
________
Glinda: P&K tn?
Fiyero: Obviously. It’s Thursday.
Fiyero: I invited C and T, btw.
Glinda: Great – see you after work.
Fiyero: You don’t have to keep texting me. I can see you from across the hall.
Glinda puts her phone down and yells from her desk with a happy wave of her hand, “Excited for drinks tonight, Fiyero!”
“Go back to work, Glinda!”
At exactly 5 pm, there’s a knock at her door and Crope and Tibbett both poke their heads around the corner.
“That very handsome man across the hall invited us to your Thursday night drinks,” Crope says with a smug look.
“I’m only disappointed that it took you this long to invite the coolest employees Shiz has to offer,” Tibbett says, hand on his chest, feigning indignation.
Crope agrees. “Just because we’re not fancy-pants editors doesn’t mean we don’t want to get tipsy and gossip with our two hottest coworkers.”
“Are you guys done?” Fiyero has come out of his office and, towering above the boys, throws his arms around both of their shoulders. He looks to Glinda, “Did you hear? The art department’s most annoying duo is joining us.”
“I heard. Like six different ways,” she teases. “I need to send one email and then I’m done.”
“Oooh,” Tibbett sings, “Is it to your mystery green girl?” Fiyero elbows him in the ribs.
“Tibbs,” Fiyero hisses a warning out of the corner of his mouth, pulling the boys away from Glinda’s doorway as she types out a last note:
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
Subject: Line Edits for Ch1
Elphaba,
I know we said pen and paper were easier, but I wanted to give you time to read and think on the edits (I promise they’re more normal this time). I’ll still have a physical copy for when we chat.
See you tomorrow.
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
Glinda sends the email and grabs her bag, tossing her notebook and water bottle in haphazardly before locking the door and linking arms with Crope. “Okay, I will die if I’m not drinking a martini in 10 minutes. Who’s buying?”
The Peach & Kidney is somewhere in between a dive and a cocktail bar. It’s not stuffy, but the drinks are strong and the tables aren’t sticky, so they find themselves here more than they’d like to admit.
Glinda slides into a booth next to Tibbett, martini in hand. “How’s life downstairs?” Glinda asks him.
“Same old,” he says, sipping a suspiciously pink cocktail. “The deadlines are always too close and no one can agree on anything. But we’re nearly done with the inside flap for the memoir that Milla’s publishing so that’s something.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” Glinda says genuinely.
Fiyero slips in across from them with a dark beer and Glinda immediately holds her hand out. Fiyero rolls his eyes put pushes the pint glass across the table so Glinda can have a sip. “Yuck,” she says decisively.
“You say that every time,” Fiyero complains.
“Only when you get dark beers. I like the normal ones.” Crope emerges and sits down next to Fiyero. “Tibbett tells me you’re nearly done with Milla’s memoir?” Glinda asks him.
Crope nods, “Yeah, just working on the inside flap now, which should be pretty easy. I’m excited to read your new thing, Glin.”
The rest of the table nods in agreement but Glinda gives a half-hearted response. “I don’t even know if there will be a thing to read at this rate.”
“I mean…” Tibbett starts, haltingly. “Not to state the obvious but we all definitely heard about the spat you had with the author.”
Glinda groans into her drink. “Ugh. I know. That was not pretty. Hopefully, we’re past that.”
“Never knew you to be one to argue like that,” Crope says carefully. “What about her got under your skin?”
Glinda takes another long sip, hoping by the time she’s done, she’ll have an answer to his question. She doesn’t. “I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t know how much Fiyero told you guys but we knew Elphaba – the author – in college. We were friends. But she and I didn’t keep in touch so it was weird to have her just pop back up in my life like no time had passed. I guess there were some unresolved issues from years ago that boiled over.” Glinda finds herself wishing she had gotten a drink she could nurse; instead, she was already nearing the bottom of her glass. “There’s not much to say beyond that.”
She feels more than sees the boys exchange a glance. Fiyero speaks next, softly, gently, “Glin, I don’t know if that’s true.”
“What is this?” Glinda asks. “You brought them along so you could have backup?”
“Glinda,” Tibbett says, laying a hand on Glinda’s. “You don’t have to tell us about it but we want you to know that you can, if you ever feel up for it.”
Fiyero takes up the torch again, “You can say whatever you want but since she showed back up, I’ve been thinking about our time at Crage and the friendship that you two had. Regardless of what kind of relationship it was, it’s hard to lose someone and then have them reappear out of thin air. You don’t have to be okay with it.”
“I don’t know what you think you know about me or about her but there’s literally nothing to talk about,” Glinda jumps on the defensive.
Crope cuts in next, “Glin, that’s not what this is about. Whatever happened, it’s still affecting you. Both of you. You don’t have to talk about it now – or ever. But we wanted you to know that we’re here if you ever need us. That’s it. This whole conversation can be done now if you want.”
“I do want that,” she says, embarrassed by how small her voice sounds.
The boys nod and then the conversation swims elsewhere, leaving Glinda unmoored, that age-old frightened feeling in the pit of her stomach. Across from her, Fiyero and Crope discuss a baseball game and Tibbett complains about how boring baseball is. It’s a normal night. Except that her friends have just clocked one of her longest-held secrets and then moved on as though it was nothing.
Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps they didn’t actually care. The realization does little to settle Glinda and she wanders back to the bar to grab another drink, to be alone. Her entourage of boys doesn’t allow it, and Tibbett sidles up to the bar next to her.
“You know,” he says slowly. “I didn’t realize I was gay until Crope.”
Glinda hums, “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, it was weird to be in my 20s and suddenly have my life turned upside down by a guy who dresses like that,” he laughs and gestures back towards where his boyfriend sits. “But once I got over that part of it, the rest of my life kind of clicked into place, made sense to me in a way it never did before.”
“That sounds…” Glinda hunts for the right word, “solacing.”
Tibbett nods, “It was. And it wasn’t just about him, it was about me. Learning who I was. It took some time, but I wouldn’t trade that period of anxiety for the world.”
Glinda turns to him and says, as nicely as possible, “Why are you telling me this?”
“No reason,” he lies. “I’m always reminded of it when I come here. This is where he first asked me out and I rejected him and went home and spiraled for several weeks.”
Glinda takes a very deep breath, the river of silence growing deeper and wider between them. “I’ve done the spiraling already,” she confesses in little more than a whisper. “That happened years ago. I just don’t know what happens after that.”
Tibbett nods sagely, unsurprised by Glinda’s confession. “If you ever want to know what I did after the spiraling, you know where to find me.”
Glinda gives him a tight-lipped smile and he wanders off back to their table, leaving Glinda alone with her thoughts and an empty glass as she signals to the bartender for another round.
_________
There’s a tilt of anxiety buzzing about in Glinda’s chest all day. She’s hardly able to focus, knowing she’ll have to meet with Elphaba after work. She arrives at the bar 15 minutes early, pacing around outside because that felt more normal than sitting inside without a drink. She takes out her phone and opens and closes her email practically a hundred times, just to give her something to do with her hands, even if there are no new messages to respond to.
After ten minutes of this, Glinda decides she can be a bit early and, steeling herself, walks into The Peach & Kidney. Only, Elphaba’s already here, posted up at the bar, reading a different book than she was reading yesterday, a half-finished beer on the counter next to her. Glinda feels her blood run cold for a moment and wonders, since it seems her body is always going to react this way, when it might start feeling normal.
She leans her forearms on the bartop next to the green woman who, absorbed in her book or ignoring the intrusion, doesn’t look up until Glinda calls her name.
“Thropp,” she says softly, breaking the woman from her concentration.
Elphaba’s head snaps up. “Galinda — Glinda, sorry,” she says quickly. She gestures to the book, “I got here early.”
“You’re fine,” Glinda says, sliding into the barstool next to her. She learned from her mistake yesterday and orders a cider, something she can sip on, something that will last a while in her glass, before hefting the manuscript out of her bag and letting it thunk down on the bartop.
“Ready?”
Elphaba nods and Glinda flips to the first page.
It’s not seamless, by any means. They argue over more points than not, Elphaba jumping to the defense of her text and Glinda patiently trying to remind her that her edits aren’t because the writing is bad, but because she’s looking out for the reading experience.
Every so often, deep into a thesis about one point or another, Glinda can almost feel like she’s back in college, Elphaba deftly and concisely unspooling her arguments one by one. But perhaps one in every nine or ten notes Glinda has made, Elphaba reads over it and says, “Yeah, okay.” And something inside Glinda glows warmly.
It takes nearly two hours, and Elphaba has long since finished the last half of her beer, Glinda nearing the end of her own warm pint, before they close out the first chapter.
“Damn,” Elphaba says slowly, rubbing at her temple. “This is exhausting. I don’t know how you do this all the time.”
Glinda takes a last sip of her drink, “Well, normally people don’t fight me for every inch.”
“I felt a cleaving in my mind,” Elphaba says suddenly, voice slightly affected, and it takes Glinda a beat to realize she’s quoting a poem.
“Oh, Dickinson. Good one,” Glinda praises. “I’m going to get these in the system,” she says, pointing at the red pen scoring the pages, “and then I’ll start in on the second chapter.”
“Sounds good,” Elphaba says, reaching to pay her tab.
Glinda stops her. “I got it,” she insists. “Company card – technically, these are work beers.”
“Thanks,” Elphaba says softly. “See you next week?”
Glinda gives her something close to a smile. “I’ll be here.” Elphaba nods sharply and is out the door.
It’s the first normal, professional conversation they’ve had in… maybe ever, Glinda thinks. But still, something lingers under the surface and Glinda isn’t sure she wants to unearth whatever hums in the shallow spaces of their conversations.
_________
Glinda: Drinks tonight?
Fiyero: Yes, Glinda. As always.
Glinda: :)
_________
Glinda finds herself in the art department that afternoon, peeking over Tibbett's cubicle.
“Hey,” she starts. “You still good for that conversation?”
He’s out of his chair and grabbing his wallet before Glinda can blink. “Let’s get a coffee,” he says, linking his arm with hers and pulling her into the bright afternoon. Tibbett buys her a matcha with a raised eyebrow and quips, “Seems appropriate.”
Glinda averts her gaze until he stops being gentle about it. “Glinda. What did you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know, Tibbs, I really don’t. I just…” she trails off.
“Okay. How about I ask you some questions and you answer them without thinking too hard about it and we see where that gets us?”
Glinda sighs. “Okay. Shoot.”
He wastes no time getting to the heart of the matter. “You like women.”
“I don’t think that’s a question,” Glinda deflects again.
Tibbett rolls his eyes. “Oh my fucking god. Work with me here.”
“Fine. Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Glinda sets her jaw, eyes flinty and voice very small. “Yes. I like women.”
He smiles so gently that Glinda worries it’s out of pity. “Is that the first time you’ve ever said that?”
“Out loud, yes,” Glinda confirms.
“How does it make you feel?” His strategy seems to be working – the rapid-fire questioning isn’t giving Glinda the time to dwell on her answers.
“Scared. Weird. Brave.”
“It’s all of those things,” Tibbett says. “It always will be.” Glinda nods as though she understands. “Do your parents know?”
She shakes her head, “I haven’t told them explicitly.”
“You used to be with Elphaba?”
Her heart stops but she forces the answer out of her mouth anyway, like coughing up something that had been stuck in her throat for years. “Yeah. In a way.”
“What kind of way?” Tibbett’s getting into dangerous territory now but Glinda finds herself unable to stop answering his questions, as though this was his plan all along.
“We hooked up in college. On and off.”
“For how long?”
“Two years. At least.” The confessions are rolling off her tongue now.
“But you weren’t out?”
Glinda shakes her head, “No. Not even to myself.”
“Are you gay?”
“I don’t know, probably. I don’t let myself think about it.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid of what my life will look like if I let myself be myself.”
“How long have you known?
“Since college, probably. Since her.”
“Why haven’t you said anything until now?”
Glinda sputters, “I don’t know. I always felt like I had to be some perfect thing and that wasn’t in line with what I thought people wanted from me.”
“How long have you been in love with Elphaba?”
“Years.”
Glinda’s breath catches, startled by her own honesty, her own answer. She didn’t even know it was true until she said it. She feels herself closing off. “Fuck you, Tibbett,” she says, unsure if there’s any real malice behind it or not.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time, doesn’t look at her with pity or care or disgust, just careful, even consideration. Glinda crosses her arms over her chest, averts her gaze, but stays sitting across from him, her litany of confessions hanging heavy in the air between them.
“This is the hardest part,” he says genuinely.
Glinda scoffs, finding her voice again. “No, actually. No, the hardest part is that I have to sit across from her tomorrow and do my job and pretend we didn’t spend years devastating each other over and over,” she spits. She stands to leave.
Tibbett catches her hand. “You know what I did after I stopped spiraling?” He asks rhetorically. “I told people. I told people, and the world didn’t burn. And I felt like I could breathe again.”
Glinda takes a breath. “I’m mad that you did that but not so mad that I can’t say thank you.” She squeezes his hand and then dips out of the coffee shop, eyes stinging.
Glinda takes the rest of the afternoon off, texting Fiyero that she’ll meet him at The Peach & Kindney. She spends the last hour of the day walking around the crowded streets, shadows falling long and warm along narrow side streets. She barely notices her surroundings, feels half-insane, wandering and pacing.
When she finally makes it back to the bar, Fiyero is sitting in their usual booth and raises a glass as she steps in the door. Glinda cracks a disingenuous smile and gets a drink for herself before sitting across from her friend.
“You good?” He questions. “You weren’t around this afternoon.”
“Did you know? About… about me?” Glinda asks abruptly.
His gaze softens. “Glinda —”
“Please,” she cuts him off. “Don’t do that. Just answer the question.”
“I didn’t. Not really. There was always something about your friendship with her that felt different,” he says honestly. “I didn’t think anything of it until she showed up and you went lightly insane.”
“She – I mean – I,” Glinda starts several sentences without finishing any of them. “Can I tell you a story?”
Fiyero blinks at the segue. “Sure.”
“Do you remember – god, it must have been sophomore year, we were in that British lit class? We were reading Mrs. Dalloway?” Fiyero nods. “Elphaba was in that class and she was always arguing with the professor.”
“Sounds right,” Fiyero says with a smirk.
“I thought she was so self-righteous and annoying.”
_________
Crage Hall
“Does she really think she’s smarter than everyone else in the room?” Galinda complains as they walk out of the classroom and onto the quad. “I mean, really. We’re all in the same program, we’re not all idiots.”
Fiyero hems for a moment, “Well… she is definitely smarter than I am.”
“Whose side are you on, Yero?”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “she’s usually got a point.”
“Ugh. Both of you are insufferable.”
“Whatever,” Fiyero says filippantly, changing the subject. “You’re going to the party at Avaric’s, I assume?”
Galinda nods, “Yeah. You’ll be there to keep me company, right?”
“It’s your boyfriend’s party, I don’t think you’ll need me. Your whole entourage will be there.”
Galinda thinks about having to spend the night with Phannee, Shenshen, and Avaric. “They’re all idiots, unfortunately.”
“That’s what vodka is for – makes your friends tolerable,” Fiyero jokes. “I’ll see you there, G,” he says as he peels off towards his next class.
When Galinda arrives with Phannee and Shenshen in tow, the party is already well underway. Music is thumping up from the basement and people swarm around the house like ants, filling plastic cups with questionable punch and bottom-shelf liquors. Someone hands her a shot glass and Galinda throws it back unthinkingly.
Avaric is here somewhere, though Galinda doesn’t really care where. They’ve been “an item” for a couple months now, but Galinda isn’t even sure she was that interested in him. He certainly isn’t that interesting. But there’s a sense of expectation from her friends, her classmates, her parents, that this is the relationship she should be in. So when Avaric asked her out, she said yes. It was simple and that’s how it’s supposed to be, Galinda reasons.
He’s objectively handsome, Galinda supposes – blond and chiseled and captain of the swim team. It just made sense. So here she finds herself, on a Friday night, at his off-campus house, drinking grocery store vodka and lemonade. Luckily, he has yet to appear from among the fray of partygoers.
Galinda flits around, chatting and dancing and drinking. She bumps into Fiyero and a few other people from her course and talks with them about an upcoming assignment. It’s all really rather boring. Until Avaric arrives, drunk and crass.
He’s slurring his speech and Galinda guides him towards the kitchen, attempting to press a plastic cup of water into his hand, which he forgoes in favor of cracking open another beer. The room seems to have cleared out, quieted, and Avaric presses her back against the counter.
“You reek of beer,” Galinda complains, intending to be lighthearted.
“You’re always complainin’ about something,” he mutters, eyes unfocused, and places a hand on her hip. Galinda swats it away. He replaces it, brushing under the hem of the fabric of her shirt.
“Avaric,” Galinda warns. “Stop it.”
“C’mon, what’s your problem?” he whines.
“Not the time or place,” she says firmly, shaking off his grip again, only to have his hand reach further under her shirt, his body press further into hers.
“Get the fuck off her,” a voice rings out, clear and calm, from across the room. Avaric takes a half step back, hands still on her, and Galinda sees the unlikely form of Elphaba Thropp standing in the doorway.
“Who the fuck are you, green girl?” Avaric throws back, slurring his words slightly.
“Dude, leave her alone.”
Avaric scoffs. “I’m her boyfriend.”
Elphaba takes a step closer, her height bringing her eye-level with Avaric. “I don’t give a shit who you are.”
Galinda speaks up finally, pushing a hand against his chest. “Avaric, just move.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender and Galinda slips out from between him and the kitchen counter.
Elphaba smiles, “Atta boy,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Go take a nap before you harass anyone else,” she pushes him out of the kitchen and follows behind, throwing a single glance over her shoulder at Galinda, who mouths a pathetic ‘thanks.’
Elphaba nods and is gone.
Galinda takes a steadying breath and walks back out into the living room. Fiyero falls into step beside her. “What was that all about?”
The blonde waves him off, unperturbed by Avaric’s behavior, “He’s just being dumb, as boys are.”
“I don’t think strangers are supposed to rescue you from your boyfriend.”
“Whatever,” Galinda says flippantly – this is just how Avaric was, nothing noteworthy about it. She appreciated Elphaba putting him in his place, but nothing about the interaction felt particularly out of character for him. Which, perhaps, is why Galinda doesn’t feel much at all for him in general.
Fiyero hums, leaning against the wall. “It was kinda hot though – Thropp coming to your rescue and all,” he laughs. Galinda pushes off the wall with a roll of her eyes and once again joins the melee of people dancing and moving and singing in one writhing mass.
Eventually, she pulls herself from the crowd and wanders the quieter hallways of the house until she stumbles out onto the back porch. The cool air is a welcome respite from the heat of the party. She tries to blame the goosebumps rising along her arms on the sudden chill, but, looking back, she thinks it probably has more to do with the fact that Elphaba is standing across from her. Green forearms are braced against the railing and a half-smoked joint hangs between her fingers, smouldering softly. Her gaze flicks up to Galinda as she shuts the back door.
“Sorry,” Galinda apologizes. “I don’t mean to interrupt, I just needed —” she gestures back towards the house as though that explains everything.
Elphaba just nods, “All good. It’s nicer out here anyway.”
Galinda leans her back against the railing, facing the house, far enough away from Elphaba that the conversation doesn't have to continue if the green woman doesn’t want it to. They can stay outside in their own personal quiet moments.
Instead, she holds the joint out to Galinda, who raises an eyebrow, but plucks it from green fingers without a word. She inhales, smoke settling, before letting it waft up and out of her mouth slowly. She hands the joint back to Elphaba. “Thanks,” Galinda says softly.
Elphaba nods again, putting the filter to her own mouth, and something about the gesture causes Galinda’s heart to kick against her ribs. She ignores it.
The green woman exhales slowly, smoke rising between them. “Galinda, right?” She asks. “You’re in my British lit class.”
“Yeah,” she confirms, letting her eyes wander over to the other woman. She hasn’t really ever looked at Elphaba, and she’s surprised to find that, despite the verdigris, she’s actually quite pretty. Sharp features, strong jaw, toned arms that are covered in a patchwork of small tattoos. Galinda can’t make out any of them in the low light, but she’s seen the ink before, surprised by the simple fact that someone her age already has so many.
She’s not bad looking, Galinda admits to herself.
“Thanks for that, back there,” Galinda nods towards the house, remembering how Elphaba had pulled Avaric off of her.
“No problem,” she says simply, looking out over the backyard where the unexpected chill of the spring night has long since driven everyone else inside. “He’s a dick.”
Galinda lets out a half-laugh, breath rising in the cold like their shared smoke. “He can be a dick, I suppose.”
Elphaba’s voice is steady, sure. “I don’t know why you’re with him, honestly.”
Galinda startles at the admission, taking the defensive. “That’s because you don’t know me at all,” she says sharply.
Elphaba swings her gaze lazily towards the blonde. “I know you could do a hell of a lot better than that asshole.”
“What, like you?” Galinda snarks, laughing.
“Like almost anyone,” Elphaba isn’t letting up.
Galinda turns to face her and suddenly is closer than she remembers being before, their faces only a handful of inches apart. “You don’t know a single thing about me,” she says sternly, trying not to feel the warmth of Elphaba’s breath on her lips.
“We could change that,” Elphaba smirks, smile sharp in the dim light.
Galinda pulls further away, looking back at the house, away from Elphaba. “Are you… Flirting with me?” Glinda accuses.
“Only if you want me to be,” Elphaba says, voice low and filled with a teasing laughter that only serves to make Galinda feel stupid, the butt of a joke she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t respond, mouth agape, astonished by the change in conversation. Elphaba takes a long drag of the joint before crushing out the ember on the railing. “Goodnight, Galinda,” she says softly, smoke threading up into the darkness as she turns and heads back inside.
__________
It happens again the next weekend.
Galinda bumps into Elphaba, this time on the front porch of one of the less-gross frat houses, music blaring from inside, muted by the door whenever it swings shut. Fiyero is holding court on one of the musty couches that sit on the porch, a few people gathered around, listening to him tell some tale about his time spent studying abroad. Galinda is barely paying attention, chatting quietly with another girl from their program whose name she doesn’t remember and is already too far into the conversation to ask again.
“What, two weeks in a row is it now?” Fiyero breaks from his story to shout a question out across the front lawn.
Galinda looks past her conversation partner and sees Elphaba ambling up the front walkway. “What can I say,” she drawls back with a half smile thrown Fiyero’s direction, “Maybe I’ve grown fond of youthful revelry and drunken idiots.”
Someone on the couch hands her a bottle of beer as she steps up onto the porch, and she pops the cap with practiced ease on the edge of a table. The conversations pick up again and the blonde loses track of Elphaba in the murmur of voices.
Galinda heads back inside to refill her drink at some point and, when she returns, Elphaba has taken her perch along the porch railing. The green woman spots Galinda looking and moves aside slightly, “Sorry,” she says genuinely, “I stole your spot, didn’t I?”
Galinda takes the proffered space but finds herself closer to Elphaba than she had expected. “You’re fine,” Galinda reassures her, settling into the small spot, arms brushing as Elphaba takes a sip of her beer.
“How’s the asshole boyfriend?” Elphaba asks with a barely concealed smirk.
Glinda sighs, “Still an asshole, still my boyfriend. You know how it is,” she says casually.
“I don’t actually,” Elphaba responds. “Explain it to me.”
Galinda shrugs, alcohol making her divulge more than she normally would, “I don’t know. People expect you to be a certain way, and it’s easier to just be that way. People expect me to date a guy like that and it’s easier to do that than explain why I’m not doing that.”
Elphaba lets out a low whistle, “Damn. That’s insanely sad, Upland.”
Glinda looks up at the woman sitting too close to her. “You know my last name?”
“You weren’t surprised that I knew your first name the other day.” Elphaba muses. “And I’m willing to bet you know mine.”
Galinda nods, “Yeah, but you’re hard to miss.”
“Because I’m green?” She asks, hand to her chest, mock offended.
Galinda rolls her eyes, “Because you’re always causing a scene. Always arguing with me in class.”
“Only because I think you’re worth arguing with. I feel like you tend to understand the texts better than most of our classmates, him too,” Elphaba says, pointing her chin at Fiyero. “You guys are smart, thoughtful. It’s not worthwhile arguing with someone who isn’t willing to take the time.”
Galinda is taken aback by the honesty. “Wow. That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Elphaba laughs genuinely and Galinda feels a tug in her chest at the noise. “That’s perhaps the nicest thing I’ve ever said.” She takes another swig of her beer and, when she speaks again, her voice is low and affected, as though she’s reading from a script. “I shall love my crooked neighbour with my crooked heart.”
Galinda realizes she is, in a way, reading from a script. “Is that…” she racks her brain, “W. H. Auden?”
“Bingo,” Elphaba’s smile could light a small city. “As I Walked Out One Evening. See, I knew you were paying attention.” Elphaba bumps her shoulder against Galinda’s and something hums pleasantly inside her.
Galinda feels a gnawing in her gut, a voice telling her to make a terrible, disastrous, perfect decision. She listens to it.
The particulars don’t really matter. The how and the when and the why of the situation aren’t important to Galinda, not anymore. All that matters to her now is that the night wore on and Elphaba didn’t get up, didn’t move across the porch when everyone else went inside, didn’t shift away from Galinda. All that matters to Galinda now is that somehow, impossibly, her hands are tangled in raven-dark hair and Elphaba’s lips are pressed hungrily against hers.
She doesn’t let herself think about it, just sinks into the feeling of Elphaba’s body on hers. The lithe muscle of her arms, the press of her hips against Galinda’s, the urgency of her lips on Galinda’s neck.
If Galinda were stronger, were braver, she would notice that she’s never felt this way before – never felt like each cell of her body is singing in harmony. As though each separate strand of her were at once tied together, the knot of who she understood herself to be was suddenly untangled.
They’re in Elphaba’s apartment, and Galinda is pushing her stupid, sleeveless t-shirt over her head. “Do you — are your nipples pierced?” Galinda asks disbelievingly, palming the other woman’s chest through her thin bra.
“Hmm?” Elphaba hums, distracted, teeth scraping lightly against Galinda’s collarbone. “Oh. Yeah,” she answers, and Galinda marvels at how utterly stupid the green girl sounds, how so unlike her normal self.
Galinda’s own shirt is off and she deftly unclasps Elphaba’s bra as the green woman pushes her towards the bed in the corner of the room. She’s leaving heavy kisses on Galinda’s neck and mumbling, “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“That didn’t seem to be an issue for you 20 minutes ago.”
“That was before you started undressing me,” Elphaba says plainly, pressed against the corner of Galinda’s jaw.
“Shut the fuck up,” Galinda demands, voice hovering somewhere between commanding and laughing.
She wants to take her time, wants to let her hands and mouth wander over the expanses of green skin, wants to ask about the scar on her calf, the tattoos along her ribs, her back, wants to drink her in, get lost in her. But Galinda knows she can’t – to indulge in Elphaba would mean to admit she’s different, is interested in her, in women. And she isn’t. This is just a one-time thing. It doesn’t mean anything.
And then Elphaba is falling to her knees, and any other rational thought is out the window.
_________
It’s a one-time thing.
Until it isn’t.
A handful of days later, Galinda is startled from her notes when a stack of books hits the table across from her. It’s late, the sky gone dark since she arrived at the library, finding an unoccupied table in a quiet corner. And it was quiet, until the books fell onto the table.
White Teeth, To the Lighthouse, a collection of Sappho, Devotions, a couple that Galinda can’t make out. Elphaba stands on the other side of the pile. “Can I sit?” She asks, eyebrow raised.
“Only if that’s Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho,” Galinda relents, pointing at the collection. Elphaba barely smiles and pulls the book of poems out, turning the cover so Galinda can read it. “You may sit,” Galinda smirks, gesturing to the free chair across from her.
They work in silence, Elphaba underlining passages from all of her many books while Galinda takes notes on the reading for their British Literature class. When the librarian comes by and lets them know they’ll be closing in a few minutes, they pack their things and burst out into the spring-warm night side by side.
Galinda breaches the quiet. “What were you working on?” She asks, nodding back at the library doors.
Elphaba continues walking next to her. “I’ve got an essay due in Dillamond's poetry class. Hence the Sappho. The rest were just for fun.”
“You’re reading Shakespeare and Woolf for fun?” Galinda wonders.
Elphaba looks at her warmly. “Yeah, gotta get the Classics in while I’m still smart,” she jokes. A beat passes. Elphaba sighs. They speak on top of each other.
“I should head h—”
“—Do you want to come over?”
Elphaba blinks. “Yes,” she nods, and Galinda leads her across campus, unlocks her door, and watches Elphaba look around her room. They don’t say anything. Galinda lets Elphaba pin her against the closed door, bodies slotted together, green hands slipping under fabric until Galinda is melting against her and choking out a noise that sounds suspiciously like Elphaba’s name.
Galinda, knees still weak, pulls Elphaba into her again, pushes her hand up under her shirt. Elphaba just smiles softly and places a strong hand – a hand that, moments ago, worked Galinda to a breathless orgasm – on the blonde’s shoulder. “Maybe next time,” Elphaba says, stopping her gently.
“So there’s going to be a next time?” Galinda asks haughtily, thankful that her voice came out steadier than her legs.
Elphaba takes a half step back, eyes searching Galinda’s. “Wasn’t this already a next time?” She doesn’t respond. Just watches from where she is still slumped against the door as Elphaba rummages through her desk, ripping off the corner of a notebook. She’s writing her phone number, Galinda realizes.
“This isn’t a thing,” Galinda reminds her quickly, rudely.
Elphaba clicks the pen closed. “I know.” Her smile is sharp and devastating.
“I mean it,” Galinda reiterates. “I’m not—” she cuts herself off.
“Not what?” Elphaba goads, knowing the answer already, as she presses the scrap of paper into Galinda’s palm.
“This isn’t a thing,” Galinda repeats instead of answering Elphaba’s question.
“I know,” Elphaba says again, stepping around the blonde to get to the door. “Goodnight, Galinda.”
_________
It continues like this for the rest of the semester. Galinda breaks up with Avaric but is on the arm of another boy by the end of the month. And yet, every few days, usually late at night, usually a bit tipsy, always lonely, Galinda will text Elphaba, and Elphaba will show up at her door.
She’ll strip Galinda bare and lay her out on the bed, or the desk (or, one memorable time, on the hardwood floor), and touch her until Galinda’s body sings in tune with itself. Ocassionally, Elphaba will let Galinda undress her, mouth pausing to lavish over hardened nipples, cold metal glinting on her tongue, Galinda’s hands unconsiously tracing the lines of Elphaba’s tattoos with deference.
Once, only once, Elphaba lets her guard down, and Galinda wakes in the middle of the night with a green arm thrown across her waist, Elphaba’s front pressed tightly to Galinda’s back. Something akin to affection sputters through Galinda’s mind but she pushes it quickly away, and when she wakes next, the bed is cold.
Otherwise, Elphaba never stays, never lingers, never lets Galinda lay her head upon her chest, listen to the rise and fall of their synced breathing, never kisses the blonde on her way out the door. Always leaves with a wry, “Goodnight, Galinda.” The blonde tells herself it’s for the best. It doesn’t mean anything, she’s not like that, she has boyfriends. Whatever is happening with Elphaba is just a convenience.
_________
The summer breaks hot and quickly over campus and most students retreat back home for internships and summer jobs and international travel. Galinda is still around for the summer, working as a TA for Professor Greyling. It’s nice. The campus is empty and the work doesn’t take up much of her time, so Galinda finds herself with many free, warm hours.
During one of these hours, Galinda is lying out on the quad, working her way through a novel, when a shadow passes over the pages.
Elphaba plops down onto the blanket next to her with a soft sound. Galinda never knows what to make of her, especially in moments like this when they’re so clearly out of the very rigidly defined roles they’ve set for themselves. When Elphaba is neither debating her openly in class nor fucking her secretly in the dead of night.
“I didn’t know you were still on campus,” she says, leaning casually back on an elbow.
“I could say the same for you,” Galinda tosses. Elphaba leans over and reaches across Galinda to bend back the cover of her book. Galinda thinks briefly that she’s here to snap her novel closed and invite her back inside. But instead, she just reads the title page with a soft hum, letting it fall back open.
“I’ve heard good things,” she nods at the book, Fates and Furies. “How do you like it?”
Galinda still doesn’t understand why this conversation is happening but, as always, she’s drawn to the green woman, her inquisitiveness, her low voice, the long line of her body next to Galinda’s in the grass. “I like it,” Galinda confirms. “I like her style of writing; the sentences seem very musical.”
“I’ve never read anything of hers,” Elphaba admits. “You mind if I borrow it when you’re done?”
“Sure thing.” They lapse into an easy silence, Elphaba still leaning maddeningly close to Galinda as the blonde tries to keep reading. She doesn’t absorb anything, too keenly aware of Elphaba’s presence. “What are you still doing here?” Galinda asks.
“Like, here at Crage or here on your blanket?”
“Crage. I assume you’re still here on the blanket to keep me from my book.”
Elphaba picks up on her teasing tone and smiles genuinely. “I’m doing research with Dillamond this summer. You?”
“Same,” Glinda says. “I’m TAing a few 100-level classes for Greyling.”
Elphaba considers this for a moment. “I didn’t know undergrads could TA.”
“Apparently just for summer courses.”
The green woman nods next to her. “So you’re around for the summer, then?”
“I am,” Galinda drawls, turning to look more fully at Elphaba, struck once again by her sharp features.
She’s wearing a t-shirt for a band Galinda’s never heard of and cut-off denim shorts. Galinda lets herself give into a base desire and runs a finger along the outside of Elphaba’s thigh, feeling a quiet victory at the goosebumps left in the wake of her touch. She traces the edge of a tattoo: a double-sided candle, both wicks lit.
“Let me guess,” she says, and the noise seems to startle something in Elphaba, who looks up quickly from where Galinda’s hand still draws patterns against her leg. “Edna St. Vincent Millay?”
Galinda flicks her gaze to Elphaba’s face, surprised to see her looking already. She’s smiling softly, voice slanting gently, “My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night.”
“But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends — it gives a lovely light.” Galinda finishes the poem for her.
Elphaba’s smile kicks up a notch. “You’re good,” she says, and something inconvenient flutters in Galinda’s chest.
“It’s a good poem,” Galinda returns, pulling her hand away from Elphaba’s sun-warmed skin. “Elphie, are you going to let me read my book now?”
“Perhaps,” the green woman says with a smirk. If the nickname surprises her, she doesn’t show it. She pulls out her own small paperback from where it must have been tucked into the waistband of her shorts. “Only if you let me get back to my book.”
Galinda rolls her eyes, “As I recall, you were the one who invited yourself onto my blanket.”
“Shh, Galinda, I’m trying to read,” Elphaba snarks. They pass another quiet hour this way, the sun filtering in through the trees, dappling the pages of their books as they sit side by side.
And in this way, a new, stranger aspect of their relationship begins. They spend the summer together. Working in the library or the campus cafe, reading and writing out on the quad, walking back from the humanities building together through the stagnant summer evenings.
It’s not a relationship.
They still sleep together, but still only ever in fleeting, gasping, secret moments. They never talk about it. They never stay the night at each other’s apartments. They never let the quick wit and cracked jokes they trade during the many hours they spend together in the daylight bleed into the time they spend together in bed.
It’s almost like there are entirely different people playing out these two vastly different roles. They never intersect. Those parts of their lives are kept separate from one another, from each other.
But Galinda knows she isn’t gay – even if Elphaba is, Galinda isn’t. This is just something people do when their boyfriends aren’t interesting, when there’s no one else around over the summer, when they’re lonely and bored.
And Galinda is lonely and bored a lot. And so Elphaba is over a lot, pressing her face into the soft spot below Galinda’s hip bone, leaving a dark bruise on the inside of her thigh, threading long green fingers through blonde curls, gasping soft curses into the heady air.
The next morning, they’ll run into each other on campus and pretend the whole thing never happened. When the fall semester starts anew, nothing changes. Galinda keeps texting Elphaba and Elphaba keeps coming over and Galinda keeps insisting it doesn’t mean anything.
_________
New York
Fiyero has said very little while Glinda tells this story. She hasn’t been able to look him in the eye since she started talking and she’s not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or fear or self-pity.
She takes a sip of her drink, surprised to find it still mostly full, now warm.
“Anyway,” she finishes, tone flat and unexpressive, “that’s why I freaked out. We were sleeping together for years and she was my friend when we weren’t sleeping together. It was… not uncomplicated,” Glinda admits. “I wasn’t prepared to see her.”
The silence sits heavy between them, Glinda having already said too much.
“Why did it end?” Fiyero asks eventually.
Glinda swirls the drink in her glass. “We got into an argument,” she admits. Figuring, if she can’t take back all she’s said, she might as well tell the full story now. “Sometime in senior year, she showed up at my place unannounced, which was something of a rarity, and told me she had feelings for me.”
Glinda hears Fiyero suck in a surprised breath. “I doubled down on the ‘this doesn’t mean anything to me’ bit and told her I wasn’t gay, it was all just a bit of fun.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. And the weird thing is that I believed it. I was so deeply in denial about – well, about everything – but mostly how I felt about her, that I honestly believed I was straight and this was just a convenient way to get off.” Glinda laughs wetly. “She called me on it, bullshit that it was. And I panicked. Whatever I felt for her was buried so deeply inside that even her staring me in the face and saying, ‘I’m in love with you, I want to be with you,’ couldn’t dredge up an ounce of courage in me.” She takes a long sip of her warm drink. “It’s pathetic.”
Fiyero is quick to jump in, “It’s not pathetic, G. It’s not your fault.”
“It is entirely my fault. I was too scared of what other people thought of me that I ignored the woman standing in front of me, asking for one scrap of affection.”
“That’s not—”
Glinda interrupts. “I took, and took, and took from her. She never asked for anything but honesty and I couldn’t give it to her.” She looks off into some middle distance, blinking against the sting in her eyes. “We hadn’t spoken since then.”
Fiyero can see she needs a moment. He stands. “I’m going to get another. You want a fresh drink?” Glinda nods, thankful for his kindness, his understanding. Glinda gives him a soft smile when he returns with a new drink. “Thanks,” she murmurs. He sits across from her and spends a moment considering her.
“Thanks for telling me that,” he says, honesty ringing clear and true in his voice.
“Tibbet pulled it all out of me this afternoon. Told me the next step was to tell people,” Glinda explains. “And you’re kinda my favorite person.” He gives her a bright smile. “I should have told you a long time ago.”
“You couldn’t and that’s alright. You told me now.”
Glinda sighs, leaning back into the booth. “I think I loved her. And I treated her like shit.”
Fiyero nods solemnly. “Yeah, you kind of did,” he says, and Glinda is glad he’s being honest instead of just placating her. “Are you going to talk to her about it?”
Glinda presses a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know. It’s impossible to talk about it and it’s impossible to ignore it.” She takes a deep and steadying breath before speaking her next confession, “I’m not even sure if I ever stopped being in love with her or if I just learned to grow around it.”
“Shit, G. That… that’s heavy. I don’t know that that’s what I’d tell her right off the bat,” Fiyero suggests.
“Yeah, well. I will probably just never tell her that,” Glinda admits. “Anyway, we still have a book to publish together.”
Fiyero’s lips quirk into a partial smile, “What a piece of work is a man.”
__________
Elphaba is, once again, already folded into a booth in the back of The Peach & Kidney when Glinda arrives the next evening. Glinda orders a gin and tonic and steels herself, sliding in across from the woman she only just realized she’s been in love with for the better part of a decade.
“Hey,” Elphaba says. “Maybe I missed it but I didn’t see an email with these notes.”
Glinda feels her eyes go wide. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I made my lines, but I just totally forgot to email you. It was… a weird week.”
Elphaba cocks her head to the side, “Everything okay?” She asks with genuine concern lacing her voice.
No, Glinda thinks. “Yeah, just hectic. I really am sorry about the notes. Are you fine to look them over with me now?”
“For sure,” Elphaba agrees, motioning for Glinda to flip open the manuscript and they spend the next couple of hours hunched over the chapter, making concessions about the text. After they’ve both finished their drinks, Elphaba pops up to grab a second round. “It’s a long chapter,” she shrugs, and Glinda watches her lean against the bar top. She’s still just as self-assured and utterly stunning as she’s always been. Maybe even more so now, dressed in a white button-down and dark jeans, hair pulled up messily, glasses perched on her nose.
Elphaba returns, sets another glass in front of Glinda, who nods in thanks. The green woman takes a pull of her beer and, setting the glass down, rolls her sleeves halfway up her forearms. The white fabric is a stark contrast against her emerald skin, a few tattoos that Glinda doesn’t recognize peek out from beneath the rolled hem. Glinda averts her gaze quickly, back onto the stack of papers between them.
She flips the page and there’s a bright splash of red ink, a word circled several times, and Glinda’s neat handwriting that reads concisely, “wtf???” Elphaba leans in closer, “What’s wrong with that?” She asks, incredulous.
“Elphaba,” Glinda says teasingly. “Are you joking?”
“I can’t fucking see,” Elphaba mutters, more to herself than anyone else, as she gets up and waves Glinda aside, further into the booth. She sits down directly next to the blonde, pulling the manuscript around so it faces them both now. She looks at the circled word again, then up to Glinda, who is suddenly very close. “What’s the issue?” Elphaba asks again.
Glinda can’t help but let out a loud bark of laughter. “Elphaba, that’s not a word. ‘Surrpetitially?’ Are you kidding me?”
“Yes, it is!” Elphaba cries.
Glinda drops her head into her hands dramatically. “No, it’s simply not.”
The green woman looks at the word harder, bringing her face very close to the page. “Oh,” she says softly, laughter on the edge of her voice. “What am I trying to say?”
“‘Surreptitiously,’ I assume.”
Elphaba snags the pen out of Glinda’s hand and rewrites the word, “You’re so right,” she murmurs.
“What was that?” The blonde taunts. “I couldn’t hear you.”
Elphaba rolls her eyes, “God forbid a girl misspell a single word.”
“God forbid a girl trust her editor,” Glinda fires back cheerfully.
They go through the last few pages of the chapter, Elphaba still sitting on the booth next to Glinda, shirt sleeves still rolled up. They’re only halfway through their second drinks when they flip to the last page and Elphaba collapses back into the bench with a sigh. “I can’t believe you do this for a living,” she says.
“Most of my job is sending emails and reading very bad books. This is the fun part.”
Elphaba stands and Glinda assumes she’s leaving but instead, she just shuffles back to the opposite side of the booth and sits back down across from her editor. “Big plans for the weekend?” Elphaba asks, trying to be casual.
Glinda chuckles lightly. “Not at all. I’ve grown boring since college, I’m afraid.”
Elphaba gives her that familiar quirky smile. “You were very fun in college, though,” she says.
Glinda’s breath catches. It’s the closest they’ve come to talking about it – ever. “Elphaba —” Glinda starts but the other woman cuts her off.
“Can you just answer one question?” She asks, eyes bright.
Glinda’s heart hammers against her ribs; she can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears. Glinda decides to make a joke, for some reason. She adopts that slanted tone Elphaba puts on whenever she’s quoting something and says, “There will be time to wonder, ‘Do I dare?’”
Elphaba knits her brows together, confusion written clearly on her face. “Hold on. Let me think… The beer is making me stupider,” she stalls. “That’s not Prufrock, is it?”
“She gets it in one, ladies and gentlemen,” Glinda crows. “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, correct. Now, what’s your question?”
“Oh, yeah,” Elphaba refocuses. “Why’d you change your name?”
Glinda breaths what she hopes is not an audible sigh of relief, glad Elphaba isn’t asking a more cutting, personal question. She shrugs, “I got an internship at Penguin right out of college and was desperate to be noticed but there were two other Galindas in my department. I dropped the A in hopes that I’d be able to stand out more,” she explains.
“Did it work?”
“No,” Glinda admits with a laugh. “I was a glorified assistant for an entire year before I decided I didn’t like how corporate Penguin was. I wanted a smaller, scrappier publishing house.”
“Thus, Shiz,” Elphaba fills in the blank.
Glinda nods, “Yeah, and by that point, the name had just stuck. I like it now, rolls off the tongue a bit easier.”
Elphaba nods sagely. “Maybe so. But I liked Galinda.”
She shrugs again, ignoring the flutter of emotion Elphaba’s minor confession causes. “Call me what you want.”
“Fiyero even uses the new name,” Elphaba muses.
“He is the most loyal, adoring, delight of man to grace this planet. You could change your name to ‘Fiyero,’ and he would use it simply because you asked,” Glinda laughs. And then she says something she probably shouldn’t: “You should come to drinks with us next Thursday, I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
“Perhaps I will,” Elphaba says, suddenly shy.
“Send me a text if you want to join us – my number is the same.”
Elphaba flushes a dark green, visible even in the low light. “I, uh – I deleted it,” she admits, rubbing a palm across the back of her neck, voice thick with embarrassment.
“Fair enough,” Glinda responds and, for a second time today, they’re right on the cusp of talking about it, talking about their years of stolen moments. Glinda tears off a strip of paper at the end of chapter two and writes her phone number down. “In case you want it again,” she offers.
“Thanks,” Elphaba says gently, taking the proffered scrap of paper and folding it twice before slipping it into her front pocket.
Glinda finishes the last sip of her drink and stands, shrugging on a light jacket. She shoves the manuscript back into her tote bag. “Can I ask you a question?”
She watches Elphaba stiffen even as she says, “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”
Glinda loops the bag over her arm and pauses at Elphaba’s shoulder, leaning down so she’s hovering near her ear. “Do you still have the nipple piercings?” She asks, voice conspiratory and alight with barely suppressed laughter.
Elphaba throws her head back and cackles, wide and true and loud enough to turn a couple heads their way. Something about the sound unseals a weird, hidden part of Glinda, and she realizes that, maybe, just maybe, if Elphaba can laugh this hard at a half-joke made about their years-long, messy, non-relationship, then it might all be okay.
_________
There’s suddenly a lightness to Glinda. She thinks back to her conversation with Tibbett and, begrudgingly, admits that he might be right. Maybe the hardest part is over. Maybe all it took was a shove in the right direction for Glinda to understand that leaning into herself was not the death sentence she had assumed it to be.
She’d told Fiyero, in a roundabout way, that she liked women. She’d told Tibbett more directly. She’d even tried to slide this long-standing but somehow newfound fact about herself into a conversation she’d had with one of the other editors on her floor, who hadn’t batted an eye and continued the discussion without even a hitched word or sideways glance.
Feeling buoyed, Glinda shoots Elphaba an email on Thursday morning.
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
Subject: Chapter 3
Elphaba,
Here’s ch. 3.
p.s. offer still stands for drinks w/ Fiyero and me tonight!
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
Glinda gets a text from her later that afternoon and is struck that, after so many years, a couple of new phones, and not a single text sent between the two of them since college, Elphaba’s name still pops up on her screen as though it had never left.
Elphaba: Hey. It’s Elphaba. Thanks for the line edits. I don’t think I can make it for drinks tonight, but perhaps next week? I appreciate the invite.
Glinda: Hi. Of course, no pressure either way.
Glinda: We’re still good to go over ch 3 on Friday, though?
Elphaba: Yes, of course.
Glinda: Great! See you then.
It’s a shockingly normal exchange for two people who used to spend alcohol-hazed Saturday nights leaving hickies painted on collarbones and high on the inside of each other’s thighs.
_________
Summer leaks into Autumn this way. Glinda works, reading a lot of manuscripts that don’t necessarily excite her, editing a few things that do. She meets with Fiyero every week; occasionally, Crope and Tibbett join them. She sits down across from Elphaba on Fridays and it takes the entire weekend for her body to stop thrumming, though whether from excitement or anxiety, Glinda can’t tell yet.
Most of the time, Elphaba pulls on her coat and is out the door within moments of finishing their joint edits. But every now and then, she’ll wander up to the bar, buy a second round, and stay to chat with Glinda. It almost feels like something friends would do – if every conversation weren’t a minefield, Glinda treading too carefully to avoid having to talk about their past in any meaningful way.
Some nights, like tonight, when Elphaba takes a sip from her second pint and pushes the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbow, Glinda can’t help but stare at her.
“I never asked about this one,” Glinda says softly, hand reaching out for Elphaba’s wrist, turning her arm over, the silhouette of a fox tattooed on the inside of her forearm. The touch sends something electric through Glinda but she doesn’t pull away.
“You never asked about any of them,” Elphaba corrects.
Glinda shakes her head, removing her hand finally. “That’s not true. I know about the candlestick – Millay, right?” They’re getting into a dangerous territory now, openly admitting to remembering everything that had transpired between them.
Elphaba runs a thumb over the fox, skin rippling under her touch. “It’s not a reference to anything in particular, I don’t think,” she says. “Though, if it were, I suppose it would be Straight Talk from Fox.”
Glinda nods wistfully, “Mary Oliver. I remember you reading that collection of hers often.” Glinda’s not sure if she’s saying all this, doing all this, to push buttons, to elicit a conversation, but it seems to be happening regardless.
“I remember you reading all those novels,” Elphaba huffs out a laugh. “It was a constant rotation with you.”
“How on earth did you end up writing a novel?” Glinda asks with a chuckle. “All you did was extol the virtues of poetry.”
Elphaba shrugs, palms raised. “I did publish a couple poetry collections, but turns out, they’re not very good.”
“I doubt that,” Glinda interrupts.
“I wasn’t ready to get a normal 9-5 kind of job, so I figured money was in the long-form game.”
“I doubt that as well.”
“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Elphaba smirks dangerously. “Thanks for taking this project on, though. I had a feeling you’d be a good advocate for this piece,” Elphaba says and the honesty is almost too much for Glinda to bear.
“So did you seek me out specifically?” Glinda asks the question she’s wanted to since they began.
Elphaba flushes. “Yes and no,” she hedges. “I liked what Shiz was putting out and once I looked into it and learned you were on the staff, there was no question in my mind that I wanted it to be you.”
Glinda nods, taking in the answer. She’s not sure if she should be touched that Elphaba sought her out like this.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Glinda says. She means it in every way possible: I wasn’t expecting to see you in conference room C that day, I wasn’t expecting you to turn my entire life inside out those years ago, I wasn’t expecting you to still be here, wielding your charm and humor and intellect like the sharpest weapon.
Elphaba seems to understand the meaning behind the words. “What were you expecting?” She asks.
“Not a ghost.”
“Is that what I am to you?”
Glinda regards her. Elphaba’s sad smile is a bright flash in the dim light of the bar. It’s disarming. “I’m not sure what you are,” Glinda answers honestly.
The green woman shakes her head slowly, smile tightening into something harder. “Some things don’t change, it seems.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re smart, you’ll figure it out,” Elphaba replies enigmatically.
Fuck it, Glinda thinks, tired of talking in circles.
“Elphaba.” She meets Glinda’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I know it’s years too late, and I’m not looking for forgiveness or absolution or anything. I’m just sorry. I was too caught up in my own self-image to realize how awful I was being to you. I never meant to hurt you but I also couldn’t think about anyone other than myself. You deserved better than that.” She’s on a roll now, not knowing at all what else is about to come out of her mouth but Elphaba is staring at her with a look that sits directly between astonishment and bitterness. “I loved you, I think,” Glinda continues, suddenly fighting back tears. “I just didn’t know how to do it right. You deserved better.”
Elphaba’s silence is horrible.
She looks at Glinda, expression unreadable, eyes flint and steel, jaw set. “You’re right,” Elphaba says finally, voice soft. “I deserved better. But I should apologize too.” Glinda’s eyebrows jump in confusion. “However shitty it was, you told me over and over again exactly what that relationship was. I wasn’t able to heed your very clear warnings. It was wrong of me, not necessarily to fall for you, that probably couldn’t have been helped, but it was wrong to turn that into your problem. I knew what it was from the jump and I still tried to change the tide.”
“I’m sorry,” Glinda repeats uselessly.
“I know.” Elphaba looks at her sadly. “Me too.”
It’s not forgiveness. Elphaba is still bitter, Glinda is still guilt-ridden. They’re both still aching. Glinda was right, this was the hardest part, maybe it will always be the hardest part. Maybe Elphaba is the hardest thing she will ever have and she will cling to it for the rest of her life.
Elphaba reaches across the table, taking both of Glinda’s hands in hers. There’s an intimacy to the act that surprises the blonde, startled by the tenderness in Elphaba’s eyes. “Thank you,” she says. “For the honesty. For the apology.”
“It was long overdue,” Glinda reasons.
“But it’s here now. And there's blame to share, to some degree,” Elphaba says sagely. She squeezes Glinda’s hands. “Goodnight, Galinda.” And then she’s up from the table, pulling her coat on as she walks quickly out the door.
Glinda lets her tears fall, finally, not caring that she’s in public and wiping her face with a cocktail napkin.
_________
Elphaba: Does the invitation to drinks still stand?
It’s the first Glinda’s heard from the other woman since their reconciliation at the bar. She was worried that she wouldn’t see Elphaba again at all; she would disappear entirely, forgoing the book deal once she realized how much hurt both women still carry with them. So to say Glinda’s surprised that Elphaba wants to spend time outside the confines of their work agreement is an understatement.
Glinda: Absolutely.
Glinda: Though I hate to admit that we’re not a very adventurous bunch. We’ll be at P&K just after 5 if you want to join us.
Elphaba: I’m growing a bit fond of that bar and your utter devotion to it as the only worthwhile drinking establishment in all of New York City.
Glinda: Don’t you dare say a bad word against the best bar on earth.
Elphaba: See you there, then.
Glinda makes her way across the hall, leaning into Fiyero’s perpetually open doorway. “Hey, Elphaba is coming to drinks tonight. Hope that’s alright,” Glinda says with a half-grimace.
Fiyero’s eyes widen. “Are you going to be okay with that?”
“Umm… Probably not? But it’s happening, so I guess that’s that,” Glinda says with a false brightness that she knows her friend can see right through.
“Did you guys talk?” He asks.
“If by ‘talk,’ you mean, ‘did I confess my years-long love for her and apologize for breaking her heart over and over,’ then, yes, we talked.”
Fiyero looks at her unblinkingly. “What the fuck, Glinda.”
“I’m wondering the same thing,” she says matter-of-factly, saccharine smile. “Be prepared to carry the conversation,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks back to her desk.
“Jesus Christ,” she hears him mutter softly.
_________
It’s… normal. Relatively. For once, Elphaba isn’t face-first in a book, waiting there for them to arrive. Glinda and Fiyero leave their tab open and curl into their booth in the back, a basket of fries between them. Glinda sits with her back to the door, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder every time the door opens, throwing a rectangle of golden-hour light onto the far wall.
Fiyero’s laughing at a story Glinda’s retelling about an argument between two of the art directors, when suddenly he sits up very straight and schools his features. “She’s here,” he whispers.
“Why are you the one acting weird?” Glinda hisses. “You’re not in love with her, too, are you?”
“God no, that would make things way more complica— Elphaba!” He stands and wraps her in a firm hug. “Glad you could make it.”
“Me too,” she says with a shy smile. “What would make things complicated?” She asks wryly, having overheard Fiyero’s loudness as she walked in.
Glinda waves her hand, “Oh, just if Fiyero here were in love with you.”
Elphaba places a hand over her heart mockingly, “Aw, I’m touched. You’re very handsome, but tragically, I’m working with a bit of a genetic predisposition,” she jokes. She’s dressed more casually than when she meets with Glinda: a chore coat thrown over a vintage t-shirt advertising Salem, Massachusetts, of all things. Glinda wonders if she’ll ever know what to make of the green woman as she strolls up to the bar.
“We’ve got a tab open!” Fiyero hollers to her, “Upland’s paying!” Elphaba laughs, and Glinda can hear her loudly ask the bartender for the most expensive thing on the menu.
She returns with a beer. “That better be the priciest beer in the world,” Fiyero jokes as Elphaba slips into the booth next to Glinda, elbow bumping hers on accident.
“Luckily, I’m easy to please,” she smirks. Turning to Glinda, her voice goes serious: “I’ll pay you back.”
Glinda scoffs, “It’s $6. I don’t make much, but I can buy a round of beers, Elphie.” She hears a sharp inhale from somewhere around the table as the nickname fell out of her mouth.
Fiyero swoops in to change the subject. God bless him, Glinda thinks, not for the first time. “So, Elphaba. What have you been up to since we left the hallowed halls of Crage Hall?”
“I got my masters here in New York,” she starts.
“I didn’t know that,” Glinda interrupts.
Elphaba glances at her. “You didn’t ask. Anyway, MFA in creative writing. And then tried to publish some poetry collections but wasn’t met with much success.”
Fiyero laughs, “So you thought novel would be easier?”
Elphaba cracks a genuine smile. “It definitely took longer,” she admits. “Someone told me that the money is in novels these days and I need to pay my rent.”
“Whoever told you that is lying,” Glinda deadpans. “Especially with that kind of book.”
Elphaba feigns hurt again, “Hey! What’s wrong with my book?”
“That’s a book that makes you think, makes you work for it. It’s a book for smart people and, turns out, not many people are smart.”
“Glinda, you’re selling the people short,” Fiyero argues. “If the book is good – which it is, I read the first draft – it will find its audience.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Glinda responds. “I just think we all chose the wrong career if we’re hoping to be raking in the cash.”
They both nod and concede the point to Glinda. “For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings that then I scorn to change my state with kings,” Elphaba quotes wistfully.
“And, in this metaphor, thy sweet love is… what? Literature?” Glinda asks with a soft smirk.
“I suppose,” Elphaba murmurs, face screwed up in concentration. “I didn’t think through the whole extended metaphor, to be honest.”
Fiyero hums. “Glinda does that too, just starts reciting a poem and expects us all to recognize it.”
Both women look at him, mouths agape. “Do you not recognize William’s like 5th most popular sonnet of all time, Yero?”
He rolls his eyes, “No, I do, obviously. But sometimes you guys pull these quotes out from thin air. It’s a weird quirk to share, is all I’m saying.”
Glinda shrugs. “I’m sure I learned it from you,” she leans her head towards Elphaba, who fixes her with a funny little grin. How curious, Glinda thinks, to be so known. To be able to point to a deeply embodied quirk and say with absolute certainty where it came from, to look across the table and know this woman left an imprint upon Glinda’s very essence, without either of them knowing.
“And how’s the editing going?” Fiyero asks, breaking them of their shared glance.
“Well, I think,” Elphaba says, flashing another quick look at Glinda to make sure she agrees. “It’s different than poetry, of course. Less personal. A lot more work.”
Glinda nods. “We only have a couple weeks until we finish going through the draft. Then it’s out of my hands – gets sent up to Morrible,” Glinda says with a waggle of her eyebrows.
The rest of the conversation rolls easily on, Fiyero doing a lot of work to grease the wheels. They finish off the fries, laugh easily, get a second round. True to form, Elphaba shucks off her jacket when she starts in on her second pint. How can the most unreadable person in Glinda’s life somehow also be the most predictable, the blonde wonders to herself, trying not to admire the toned green arms suddenly on display next to her.
They reach the bottom of their glasses and Fiyero holds the door open for them as they burst out into the night, sun now set and a chill creeping into the city between the skyscrapers. Glinda shivers slightly and Fiyero throws his long arm across her shoulder, pulling his friend into his body to try and warm her.
Ephaba gives them a quizical look. “Are you two…?” She gestures between them with a furrowed brow, and Fiyero springs away from her too quickly.
“Oh! No! No, I would never. Glinda’s gay! She just told me.”
The silence stretches on.
Fiyero tries to fix the damage he’s caused. “I am so sorry, G. I wasn’t thinking.”
Elphaba’s not paying any attention to him, fixing Glinda with a look that Glinda can’t place. “I didn’t know,” she says softly. “I mean – I did but I didn’t,” she backtracks.
“Me neither,” Glinda whispers. “I should get going,” she changes the subject quickly, giving Fiyero a deep hug and whispering, “You’re fine, don’t worry” in his ear as they part.
He turns and wraps Elphaba in another embrace. “Thanks for coming – it was nice to catch up. Don’t be a stranger,” he instructs.
Elphaba nods once, “I had a nice time. Goodnight, Yero.”
Glinda doesn’t know if she should reach out to hug Elphaba, so she doesn’t, stays rooted to the sidewalk and gives the green woman a weird nod. “See you tomorrow, Thropp.”
“Goodnight, Galinda.”
That night, Glinda dreams of Elphaba as she was at Crage Hall, young and somehow even more gangly than she is now. She’s in Glinda’s college apartment and speaking fluent French, trying urgently to get Glinda to understand something she’ll never be able to. When Glinda wakes, the edges of the dream are already fading, and she fights to hold onto the memory of the woman as she was, even if she was incomprehensible.
__________
Glinda tosses the pen onto the stack of papers. “God damn, Elphaba,” she groans playfully. “Did you have to write such a long book?”
“Couldn’t help myself,” Elphaba shrugs. “You want another?” She nods at Glinda’s empty glass.
The blonde shakes her head, “No, I skipped lunch, probably shouldn’t drink much more. I’d take a sparkling water, though, if you’re going up to the bar.” Elphaba clicks her tongue as if to chastise Glinda for missing lunch and returns a few minutes later, balancing two glasses in one hand and a basket of fries in the other.
“Sparkling water,” she says, setting the glass down. “And a sorry excuse for a meal,” she places the fries between them with a flourish.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Glinda says, reaching immediately for a fry.
Elphaba says nothing and drops into the opposite booth, taking a long pull of her beer. Glinda counts down from ten in her head. When she gets to four, Elphaba begins rolling the sleeves of her shirt up methodically. Too easy, Glinda thinks.
“So,” Elphaba begins. “You’re gay now?”
Glinda could laugh at her directness, her no-nonsense way with words. How so like Elphaba, the blonde thinks. “I guess so,” she concedes.
“You don’t sound very sure.”
Glinda sighs, suddenly weary. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Elphaba. I was so deeply in the closet, so deeply in denial that I didn’t even recognize myself for what I was. It’s fucked up and makes me feel utterly stupid to be nearly 30 and just figuring this out, but that’s what happened.”
“I’m not mad at you, Glinda,” Elphaba says softly. “I could never be mad at you. I’m sorry we never talked about it, you know, back then. I didn’t know you were struggling. I thought you were just embarrassed by me.”
“No,” Glinda whispers so gently. “It was never you. I – If I had known what I wanted, it always would have been you.” She clears her throat with a wet sound. “But yes, I guess I’m gay now. Sorry it took me so long.”
“Of all the things to apologize for in this life, that shouldn’t be one of them.”
Glinda laughs humorlessly. “We should probably stop doing this,” she gestures in front of her.
“Doing what?”
“Saying all these big things at this little table when we’re supposed to be working.”
Elphaba cracks a genuine grin, lips curling up as if against her will. “I bought this round, these aren’t work drinks anymore. We can talk about whatever,” she explains as though she’d found a loophole in the system. “Has there been anyone else?” Elphaba asks suddenly and then, eyes wide, backtracks quickly. “Sorry, I don’t know why I asked that. You don’t need to answer.”
“No,” Glinda says easily. “Not in any real way. A couple one-night stands.”
“Women?”
Glinda nods, “Yeah, but they were few and far between. Mostly, I’ve been alone.”
“Were you lonely?”
“Yes, but it didn’t bother me. I see it almost as a penance. I’m not allowed to be happy with anyone else because I fucked it up so royally with you.”
Elphaba looks away. “Can we be done?” She asks solemnly. “Can we be done punishing ourselves now?”
“What would you suggest instead?”
Finally, Elphaba meets her gaze. There’s something tender in the set of her face all of a sudden. “I think we should eat our fries. I think we should come back here next week and finish this damn book. I think we should drink a beer and make fun of Fiyero. I don’t think we can start from scratch and be friends. But I do think we can try to grow around the things we did to each other.”
“I’d like that,” Glinda agrees, struck by the earnest simplicity of Elphaba’s suggestion.
The green girl smiles and points at Glinda with a French fry, “Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination.”
_________
They finish the book. Glinda sends it up to Morrible who sends it back down with a few notes about the overall structure, and Glinda, who could probably make the changes on her own, asks Elphaba to meet her again. The following week, Fiyero invites Crope and Tibbett and Elphaba to Thursday drinks, and the group has perhaps one more round than would be strictly advisable. Their voices all get a bit louder, they laugh more easily at each other's jokes. There are too many people in the booth and suddenly, Elphaba is pressed against Glinda, shoulder to shoulder, and something inconvenient tightens in Glinda’s chest at the contact. Elphaba doesn’t pull away, just radiates, warm and solid, against Glinda.
The next Thursday, Elphaba doesn’t come to drinks and Glinda sends her a text that night.
Glinda: Missed you at p&k tonight. You’re welcome any time.
Elphaba: I’ll keep that in mind.
Glinda: I mean it. It’s been nice.
Glinda: I missed having you around, in my life.
Elphaba doesn’t respond for long minutes and Glinda worries her bottom lip between her teeth at her own forwardness. Finally:
Elphaba: Me too, Upland.
_________
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
Subject: No Good Deed Epigraph
Elphaba,
Did you want an epigraph? If so, send it along. This is probably the last thing I need before we go to print (hopefully in the next month?).
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
To: Glinda Upland ([email protected])
Subject: re: No Good Deed Epigraph
I was thinking Sanctuary, by Dorothy Parker:
“My land is bare of chattering folk;
The clouds are low along the ridges,
And sweet's the air with curly smoke
From all my burning bridges.”
Let me know how you feel.
-ET
To: Elphaba Thropp ([email protected])
Subject: re: re: No Good Deed Epigraph
Elphaba,
Weird that you should say that… the boys downstairs just sent me a mock-up of the final cover. Normally, I’m not supposed to show the author until it’s official, but I’ll break the rules for you this once. Have you been talking to C&T at all?
Best,
Glinda Upland
Associate Editor | Shiz Publishing House
The cover is good, Glinda thinks. Really good. A stylized stone bridge over a small stream, looking for all the world to be a pastoral oil painting, except the bridge is alight in flames that seem to lick their way up the page. The title is suspended within the bright oranges and yellows of the fire, Elphaba’s name smaller at the bottom. It’s eye-catching, for sure.
To: Glinda Upland ([email protected])
Subject: re: re: re: No Good Deed Epigraph
Holy shit. That’s uncanny. And also so cool. Tell them not to change a damn thing.
It’s perfect. Thank you for all of this – you make it easy.
-ET
_________
Glinda arrives late to The Peach & Kidney one evening in January, an inch of grey snow lining the sidewalks. Fiyero and Elphaba are already tucked inside, the warm glow of the bar against the sharp chill of the winter air is a welcome reprieve. She spots her friends in the corner, Elphaba’s head thrown back in laughter. She’s wearing a hoodie and a knit beanie to ward off the cold. Her glasses are off and sitting on the table next to her as she gesticulates wildly. Glinda can’t help the soft smile that creeps across her face.
Glinda slips into the booth next to Fiyero, who throws an arm lazily around her shoulders and pulls her into a halfway hug. “Thanks for finally showing up,” he teases.
“I was busy,” Glinda says plainly. “And I have a gift for you,” she says brightly, looking across the table at Elphaba in her knit cap.
“Me?” Fiyero asks, excited.
“No, for our dear friend Elphaba Thropp.” Glinda digs around in her bag and pulls out a hardcover copy of No Good Deed, sliding it across the table to a speechless Elphaba. She stares at the book for a long moment, disbelief painted plainly on her face.
Elphaba looks back up at Glinda. “It’s here?” She asks reverently.
Glinda laughs, “It’s here. You can touch it, you know?”
Elphaba picks her glasses back up and slides them onto her face, scrunching up her nose in a way that makes Glinda feel slightly unsteady. And then she picks up her book, running an appreciative hand over the cover, fingers tracing the embossed letters of the title. She cracks the spine and fans the pages out, struck by the real-ness of it, after all this time spent working on it.
“Wow,” she laughs softly. “This is kind of surreal.”
Glinda leans closer in. “Congrats, Elphaba.”
The green woman looks back up at her editor and Glinda’s surprised to see her eyes misting over. “I don’t even know what to say. This is– thank you. Truly.” And then she’s standing, pulling Glinda up from the table and wrapping her long arms around her in a tight embrace. Glinda’s hands go automatically around the other woman’s waist, as she presses her face into Elphaba’s shoulder, inhaling a smell that she thought she had long forgotten. Damp earth and pine needles and over-steeped tea and something so distinctly Elphaba.
The hug lasts a beat longer than either of them expected and when Elphaba pulls away, she holds Glinda by the shoulders. “Thank you,” she says again. “This is insanely fucking cool.” Glinda’s grin feels like it’s threatening to split her face in two.
They settle back into their seats and Fiyero gives her a knowing look that Glinda ignores in favor of pulling her phone from her pocket. “The gifts don’t stop here,” she says slyly. “For my next act, I will be reading you all the highlights from the New York Times book review of No Good Deed.”
“Hold up. New York Times?” Elphaba asks, astonished. Fiyero lets out a long, low whistle of appreciation.
“Correct. The New York Times has already reviewed your book. It’s being published in the Sunday paper this weekend, but it’s online as of today.”
“How did I not know that?” Elphaba asks.
“Maybe because you treat the internet as a place to be avoided at all costs,” Fiyero jokes.
“Shut up, both of you,” Glinda demands with a grin. “Ready?” She begins to read, “‘Poet-turned-novelest, Elphaba Thropp stuns in her debut novel, No Good Deed. The story follows an unnamed young woman in a fictional city as she struggles to fight against the oppressive forces of a tyrannical regime, and who, at every turn, seems to find the consequences of her actions more severe than the actions themselves. The plot, though, comes secondary to the characters, who bleed through the pages as if alive.’
“‘Perhaps it is the poet in Thropp who utilizes language in a way that makes the prose sing, but either way, very structure of the sentences adds to the overall feeling of being wholly immersed in her world. This is a novel that asks questions of its readers: What does it mean to do good? What does it mean to be forced to make concessions on your dreams? What do we leave behind when we put ourselves first? Thropp asks these questions and more, forcing the reader to do the work of answering them along with her protagonist.’
“‘We can hope that Thropp is only just beginning her career in narrative literature, as this book is a triumph. No Good Deed is out on March 15th.’”
Elphaba is comically slack-jawed across the table when Glinda looks up from the article. “Holy shit,” she says slowly, drawing the syllables out.
Fiyero scrambles out of the booth, basically flattening Glinda on his way out. They both ignore him. “I’m really proud of you, Elphaba,” Glinda says genuinely.
“I don’t think I could have done this without you.”
“You could, and you did. I just nudged it along and did all the lame bureaucratic nonsense on the back end,” Glinda waves off the compliment. “You did all the hard work, all the real work. It was just an honor to work on it.”
Fiyero’s back and slamming three shot glasses down on the table. “Oh god, Yero,” Elphaba groans. “We’re not 19 anymore.”
“We are not,” he agrees. “But you, Elphaba Thropp, are a triumph, and we are your friends. Drink up.” The two women begrudingly pick up a shot glass, much to Fiyero’s delight. “To the very best poet-turned-novelist we know,” he toasts. “Cheers!”
They clink their shot glasses in the middle of the table and Glinda grimaces at the burn of the alcohol in the back of her throat. “Oh, I fear I’m actually too old for this now.”
Fiyero grabs the discarded glasses and, with a formal bow, says, “And with that, I take my leave of you.”
“Seriously? You’re going to get us drunk and immediately leave?” Glinda complains.
Fiyero quirks a smile at them, “Yes, I forgot that I have a date tonight. It’s bad form to show up drunk and even worse form to show up drunk and late. Goodbye, girls.” He spins dramatically back to the bar, deposits their empty glasses and rushes out into the cold.
Elphaba shakes her head adoringly at him. “For all his nonsense, I really do like him,” she admits. “I liked him in college, too; always knew how to tell a good story.”
Glinda sighs dramatically, “He is insane and perhaps my best friend in the entire world.”
“Sorry I thought you guys were dating that one time,” Elphaba says with a light grimace.
“All good, he’s very affectionate but, as we now know, not really my type,” Glinda jokes.
Elphaba smirks, “And what exactly is your type?”
“Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.”
Elphaba cocks her head, “Is that A Tale of Two Cities?”
“Right guy, wrong book,” Glinda corrects. “Great Expectations, but no one knows if that’s where the phrase originated or if it was already in use by the time Dickens wrote it. So you only get a half point for that one,” Glinda teases.
The conversation moves on, they talk more about the book, try to schedule a time for Elphaba to come into Shiz and sign the requisite 500 copies that get sent to independent bookstores around the country so, years from now someone can brag, ‘I have a signed, first edition copy of No Good Deed.’ They talk about how, if the book continues getting good press, Elphaba could probably string together a book tour in the spring. They talk about the novel Glinda is reading for fun. They sip their drinks slowly, Glinda feeling a warm buzz permeate through her body that she attributes to both the alcohol and Elphaba in equal measure.
When they make their way outside, a light snow has begun falling in fat, wet flakes that melt as soon as they land. Elphaba tugs the beanie tighter over her head and Glinda pulls her coat closed. They’re standing very close together, eyes cast upwards, watching the swirl of snow descend towards them. When Glinda lowers her gaze, Elphaba is already looking at her, eyes dark and unreadable as always. She’s so beautiful.
The city is unusually hushed. “Galinda, I-”
And then Elphaba’s hand is on her cheek and her lips are on Glinda’s, tasting of the beer she just finished, and Glinda’s mind empties to a litany of Elphaba, Elphaba, Elphaba as she kisses her back with as much tenderness as she can possibly muster.
Elphaba pulls back too quickly and Glinda is left chasing a kiss that never comes. Her eyes open to meet Elphaba’s, wide and scared. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” Elphaba stutters. “I should – I need to go.”
And Glinda watches her walk off into the night, book clutched tightly in her hand, as the snow melts quickly in her bootprints. Elphaba looks over her shoulder just once, as she turns the corner, and Glinda bites the inside of her cheek until it bleeds coppery over her tongue to keep from crying out to her.
_________
Glinda: Elphaba, answer my fucking calls.
Glinda: Please.
Glinda: I need to talk to you.
Glinda: Can you at least just let me know you got home okay last night?
Glinda: God dammit, Elphie.
Glinda: Could you not be so insanely stubborn for one second and just answer a single text?
Glinda: This is exceedingly pathetic on my end.
Glinda closes the door to Fiyero’s office when she comes in, ignoring his raised eyebrow. “How was your date?” She asks, slumping into the chair across from him.
His eyes are alight. “There was no date,” he admits.
“So you left because…?” Glinda lets him fill in the blank.
“Because there was clearly something going on with you two, and I was not about to get in the way.” Glinda just glares at him, exhaustion written on her face. “And how was your date?” He asks, voice intentionally syrupy.
“There was no date, Yero,” Glinda all but snaps. “We talked, we drank, she kissed me on the sidewalk in the snow, she ran away.”
Fiyero looks at her with wide eyes, “Did you kiss her back?” He demands to know.
“Yes! Of course, I kissed her back! I have been in love with her since the dawn of time!”
“Well then, what the hell happened?”
Glinda sighs and somehow sinks further into the chair. “Your guess is as good as mine. She said, ‘I can’t do this’ and speed-walked away.”
Fiyero cocks his head, “Did she actually say, ‘I can’t do this?’”
Glinda wonders why the exact syntax matters. “I don’t know – it was something like ‘I shouldn’t have done that, I need to go’ which is practically the same.”
“But it’s not exactly the same.”
“The end result is the same,” Glinda argues. “She ran off and now won’t answer my calls or texts.”
“So what do you want to do now?”
Glinda’s enraged by her friend’s weird line of questioning. “I want to kiss her! But the crazy thing is that the thought of kissing her makes me want to die but I know for a fact that I will die if I don’t kiss her again.” She takes a moment, “And I know she’s off somewhere spiraling because I spent years rejecting her and she’s going to think that we’re falling back into old patterns but I didn’t push her away this time. I just want her to stop being an idiot and talk to me like a human being!” Glinda’s out of breath by the time her tirade is done.
“I don’t even know where she lives,” Glinda continues more quietly. “I just have to wait for her to come to me. I worry she never will.”
Fiyero listens with a soft expression. “What about the manuscript?” He asks.
“What about it? It’s being published in March, keep up.”
“No, I mean. She sent it to you. In the mail. With a return address.” He breaks up his sentences slowly and watches the fact of it dawn on Glinda.
“Do you think that’s her address?”
Fiyero shrugs. “She said she didn’t have an agent, so why should it come from anywhere else?”
“You’re a genius,” she praises, standing quickly. She shuffles through her desk for the manila envelope that started this whole thing. It’s folded and stuffed into a file with all her other No Good Deed paperwork. The return address is for an apartment in SoHo. Glinda breezes down the hall, “I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off,” she calls to Fiyero and is in the elevator before he can respond.
Glinda arrives to find the buzzer broken and has to wait in the cold for 20 minutes before she can slip in as someone else comes out of the building. Glinda doesn’t give herself any time to talk herself out of this; just stands in front of Elphaba’s door and knocks solidly with knuckles reddened from the cold.
She hears footsteps behind the door, the sliding of the peephole, and, after what feels like eons, the click of the lock. Elphaba pulls open the door and Glinda could laugh at how astonishingly gorgeous she looks, lit from behind by the harsh winter light, hair thrown up into a messy bun, clad in sweatpants and a tank top.
“Glinda, what are you—”
“Your buzzer is broken,” Glinda says for some reason.
“I know.”
They both stand on opposite sides of the threshold and look at each other, struck mute and dumb. “I needed to see you,” Glinda says, embarrassed by the smallness of her voice. Elphaba doesn’t respond but takes a step back, letting Glinda step into the apartment. The space is exactly right – there are bookshelves full to bursting and piles of books stacked against the windowsill, on the floor. The kitchen is slightly untidy, and Glinda can count three abandoned mugs in her quick sweep of the room. The first copy of No Good Deed sits on her coffee table.
Elphaba sighs and closes the door. “What do you want, Glinda?”
Glinda turns and looks at her, one hand still on the doorknob, as though she’s seconds from leaving her own apartment to avoid this conversation.
“You,” Glinda says simply. And, for once, it is simple.
“Look,” Elphaba starts and Glinda knows with that one word that her heart is about to break again. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was out of line. Just because you’re here and out now doesn’t mean you want to be with me.” Elphaba says, crossing her arms over her chest but still not fully leaving her place by the door. “I’m sorry I keep putting you in these positions where you have to turn me down; it’s not fair.”
Glinda blinks. “Who said I was turning you down?”
Elphaba scoffs sadly and it takes everything in Glinda not to reach out to her. “I think if we were smart, you would.”
“Why?” Glinda asks, surprised by the hardness in her voice. “Because we fucked up when we were kids? We hurt each other?”
The green woman shrugs from her place by the door. “It’s as good a reason as any.”
“Now who’s being the coward?” Glinda challenges. “You know, Elphaba, I loved you. Even then, I loved you. And I know I fucked up, I was terrible to you. But I didn’t know what I wanted then, I didn’t know how to be myself. I’m learning now. And I’m learning that it was always you.”
“Glinda,” Elphaba warns, as though she’s cutting too close to the heart of the matter.
“No, if you’re just going to send me back out, at least listen to me,” Glinda demands. “It was like losing a limb when you left. I know I caused it, but, truly, it felt like a missing limb. Like a part of me was cut out and I would never be able to be whole again. And, yes, over time, I learned to live without it. But I never, ever stopped feeling the phantom pain of it, the tingling sensation that meant you were never mine to have and never would be again.” Glinda stops talking, she didn’t realise she’d been crying until she takes an unsteady breath. “You’ve always been a phantom limb I’ve carried with me. I still love you, Elphaba. I never stopped. I just didn’t know what to call it.”
She wipes at her face and pushes towards the door, seeing herself out. “I like having you in my life. But if you can’t be my friend, I understand,” Glinda says with an air of finality.
“I can’t be your friend,” Elphaba says quietly.
Glinda nods sternly. “Okay. That’s that, then.”
Elphaba places a hand on her waist as Glinda tries to reach for the door. “I can’t be your friend,” she repeats, turning Glinda back towards her. “I’ve been in love with you too long for that.” Green fingers thread through blonde hair and Elphaba’s kissing her again.
It feels like Glinda’s been building a house. She’s spent years planning, drawing from memory, making sure everything is exact and true and right, and now that the house is built, she’s opening the front door and stepping inside. Running her hands along the wall, bare feet on the hardwood, feeling everything that she’s spent so long imagining come to life beneath her fingers. That’s what it feels like to kiss Elphaba again. To kiss her and mean it.
Her hands find Elphaba’s strong jaw, her high cheekbones. Elphaba’s tongue licks into her mouth and Glinda finds herself moaning against the green woman. Elphaba doesn’t pull away, doesn’t run, and Glinda lets herself feel it all for the first time.
“I love you,” Elphaba murmurs against her lips. “I love you.”
Glinda’s cheeks are still tear-stained and Elphaba kisses the salt from her face. “I’m so sorry, Elphie.”
Elphaba pulls back to look Glinda in the eyes, thumb running delicately over her jaw. “Enough of that,” she says softly. “We’re okay.”
“Kiss me.” Elphaba does and Glinda clings to her solid form. They stand in the entryway, lost in each other, for what could have been hours or just a handful of seconds; time never did make sense with Elphaba.
Glinda pushes Elphaba towards her own couch and they lie, tangled, flushed, lips tracing every exposed swath of skin. Elphaba’s hands skate under the hem of Glinda’s shirt and the blonde pulls back.
“Shit, sorry?” Elphaba says and somehow it’s a question. “Too much?”
“I mean, nothing you haven’t seen before,” Glinda laughs sincerely, hands ghosting over the lithe muscle of Elphaba’s bare arms. “I just – I want to do this right. We spent so long doing this wrong, I want to do it right this time.”
Elphaba nods and leans in to kiss Glinda again, as though she couldn’t bear the distance. “Okay,” she says when she pulls away. “What does that look like?”
Glinda feels herself flush. “I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day just like this. Perhaps even the rest of my life,” she says, only halfway joking. Elphaba smiles in a new and giddy way, a way that sends a warmth through Glinda’s chest.
Elphaba presses her face into Glinda’s hair. “What are you doing tomorrow?” She asks.
“Why, Elphaba,” Glinda says teasingly. “You’re coming on a bit strong there.”
“I know what you look like when you come, I think we’re a bit past that,” Elphaba says with a wicked smirk.
“Okay, my god, no need to be so crass,” Glinda’s eyes go comically wide at her directness. “I’m free tomorrow, if that’s what you were wondering.”
“I’ll pick you up at 8, then?”
Glinda hums, “And where are you taking me?”
“Not The Peach & Kidney,” she jokes.
“Aw,” Glinda whines, tracing a tattoo on Elphaba’s exposed collarbone with a delicate finger. “Why not? A very cute girl kissed me last time I was there – I’m rather fond of it.”
Elphaba rolls her eyes and, with a hand fisted into the collar of Glinda’s shirt, pulls her back into a slow, firm kiss. “I missed you so much,” Glinda whispers reverently when they part, thumb swiping across Elphaba’s bottom lip.
It’s the most intimate they’ve ever been, strangely.
“Absence disembodies—” Elphaba quotes.
A silence settles. “I don’t know that one,” Glinda admits.
“Superposition helps, as well as love —” Elphaba finishes.
“I like that. I like you,” Glinda decides. “Now be normal and tell me that you missed me too,” she jokes plainly.
Elphaba’s smile turns wistful. “With everything I have. I never truly stopped loving you, I don’t think,” she admits. “I just sort of… moved on.” Elphaba sits up slightly, bringing Glinda with her. “I became very closed off and bitter – guarded. I thought I had gotten over you but then I saw you again and everything came rushing back, as though it was all just waiting in the wings for you to reappear in my life.”
Elphaba bites her lip and continues. “I want you to know that I didn’t sell you my book because I was expecting this,” she gestures between the two of them: Glinda more or less sitting atop Elphaba on the couch, Elphaba’s strong hands at her waist, the remnants of Glinda’s lipstick smudged against Elphaba’s neck. “I wanted you to publish the book because I was fairly certain no one in this world could understand me as a writer better than you can.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely true. I haven’t really known you in years.”
Elphaba cocks her head in thought for a moment. “I sort of see writing as a way to join this conversation that’s been happening for millennia and will continue, perhaps, forever. And everyone else who has ever written is there speaking to one another in some way.”
“Okay…” Glinda nods, not fully following the green woman’s train of thought.
“So I’d like to imagine that my work is in conversation with the work of everyone I’ve been inspired by, everyone I’ve read and absorbed. And you’re probably the only person who is familiar with most of the formative texts of my own writing career.”
“To know the things you’ve read is to know you?” Glinda asks.
Elphaba smiles so brightly it nearly hurts. “Yes. Exactly. And then you can do something like that where you take every insane thing I’ve ever said and distill it into one sentence that makes perfect sense.”
Glinda looks at the woman below her with such adoration. She places a hand against Elphaba’s jaw, thumb running an unconscious arc across her cheekbone, over the bow of her lips. “I can’t believe I wasted so much time,” she says in a whisper, voice nearly breaking from the emotion of it.
Elphaba turns her head slightly and kisses Glinda’s palm. “Let’s not waste any more, then, my sweet,” she says, wrapping her arms around Glinda’s waist and pulling her further down into the couch, into Elphaba.
They waste the afternoon this way, until the mid-winter sun sets, leaving pale golden shadows across the wall. They kiss lazily, hands skating across exposed skin, fingers tracing the delicate lines of each other, Glinda pressing warm kisses against the tattoos on Elphaba’s shoulders and arms. It’s so easy.
Glinda sits up eventually, pouting. “I don’t really want to leave.”
Elphaba holds her hands up jokingly. “Don’t look at me. You were the one who said you wanted to do it right.”
“I know,” Glinda sighs. “I am trying to be good.” She leans back in and tries to kiss Elphaba chastely but the green woman has other ideas, licking into the blonde’s mouth and biting at her lower lip until Glinda is gasping out a heavy breath. “Not fair, Elphaba,” Glinda narrows her eyes when they eventually part.
Elphaba’s hands hold tightly to Glinda’s hips. “Just wanted to give you a taste of what you’re missing,” she smirks, finally letting Glinda up to stand on unsteady legs.
“I know exactly what I’m missing,” Glinda muses playfully, trying to fix her hair where Elphaba’s hands had mussied it. “I’ve been missing it for years.”
Elphaba smiles softly, standing from the couch and stretching her long arms over her head, her back popping once or twice; the hem of her tank top rides up just slightly, revealing a swath of green skin above her sweatpants. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though?” She asks.
“You will,” Glinda smiles, pressing once again into Elphaba’s taller form, wanting to kiss her but smiling too deeply. Regretfully, Glinda gathers her belongings and shrugs on her coat.
“Goodnight, Galinda,” Elphaba says, a lilt to her voice that Glinda doesn’t recognize but adores immediately.
“Goodnight,” she replies, leaving one last, lingering kiss to Elphaba’s lips before pulling the door closed behind her. She only gets a handful of steps down the hallway before the door cracks open again and Elphaba pokes her head out, a bemused look on her face.
Glinda turns and raises an eyebrow in question. “Say the thing again?” Elphaba asks, and Glinda knows instantly what she means.
“I love you, Elphaba.”
Her grin could burn down the city.
“I love you, too.”
_________
Elphaba: It is occurring to me that I cannot take you out to dinner because I don’t know where you live.
Elphaba: (Please don’t say Midtown.)
Glinda wakes to these texts from Elphaba and the prior evening rushes back to her. There’s a warmth in her chest, like a lamp left on. She sends the other woman her address.
Elphaba: You live… seven blocks from me?
Glinda: It appears that way.
Elphaba: And I’m supposed to wait until tonight to see you again?
Glinda: Hold out, my sweet.
She flicks over to her text thread with Fiyero, in which she has a dozen missed messages from him asking what happened after she left work early the day before. She ignores them.
Glinda: Hey, can you come over later? I need your help picking an outfit.
Fiyero: An outfit for what kind of event…?
Glinda: A date. That I have. With poet-turned-novelist, Elphaba Thropp.
Fiyero: Oh, thank god.
Fiyero: You guys are going to have the most beautiful wedding, I can feel it.
Fiyero: I’ll be there at 5.
Glinda tries to get some work done – she does have other pieces she’s supposed to be editing, after all – but finds herself distracted and gazing out the window more often than not. The radical swing her life has taken in the last two days has unsettled the very foundation of herself, and she can’t quite seem to care about anything else at the moment.
Her phone rings as she finally gives up for the day, papers strewn about her kitchen table. Elphaba is on the other line.
“You know,” Glinda smirks, teasing tone clear in her voice. “You’re starting to come on a little strong, Elphie.”
“Good,” Elphaba says firmly. “What if I said that 8:00 was too far away from now and I can’t possibly find anything to fill the hours of my day?”
Glidna laughs loudly and honestly. “Should we get a drink before dinner, then?”
“What an incredible idea, Miss Upland,” Elphaba teases, voice thick with humor. “I’ll see you at 6:00, then.”
_________
Fiyero is over, lounging on Glinda’s couch as Glinda tries on different shirts and he gives his feedback.
“Why exactly did you pick me for this?” He asks warmly.
“Because you understand what women like!” Glinda yells from her bathroom.
“She wrote and published a book so she could get back into your pants, I think Thropp will like you regardless of what you’re wearing.”
Glinda pops back out into the room. “That’s not what happened. Also, this is literally our first date,” Glinda says by way of explanation.
Fiyero pulls his eyebrows together. “Barely. She’s seen you naked. The stakes are low.”
Glinda groans loudly at him before trying on a different shirt. The buzzer rings. “Please answer that!” Glinda hollers.
Fiyero drags himself off the couch and presses the intercom. “Go for Upland,” he says cheerfully.
“Uh. Fiyero?”
“Oh, Elphaba. Hold on, let me tell Glinda you’re here.” He keeps his hand on the button as he yells, “G, your work colleague is here!”
“Don’t call her that!” Glinda shouts back at the same time as Elphaba says flatly, “Don’t call me that.”
“Just buzz her up, Yero, Jesus.”
“Come on up, Thropp,” Fiyero sings as he finally presses the buzzer.
Glinda peeks back into the room with a glare as she secures an earring. “I need two more minutes, be normal, please,” she begs her friend as she retreats back into the bathroom and lets him open the door, sweeping Elphaba into her small apartment.
“Glinda’s a couple minutes out, so she says,” Fiyero greets the green woman.
“Hi, Yero,” she hugs him tightly. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, “Our girl needed a hand. Between you and me, I think she’s genuinely nervous.”
“I can hear you!” Glinda’s annoyance is muffled by the door. “Hi, Elphaba! I’ll be there in a second,” she continues yelling.
“Hi, Glinda,” Elphaba says and Glinda can hear the smile in her voice even through the partition. She takes one last look at herself in the mirror, steels herself, and pushes open the door.
Elphaba is leaning a hip against her kitchen counter as Fiyero nods along to whatever she’s saying. The rest of her sentence dies on her lips as she swings her gaze towards Glinda. No one says anything for a beat.
“That’s my cue,” Fiyero says gently and gives Elphaba a quick hug before pulling Glinda into a needlessly aggressive bear hug that nearly lifts her off her feet. “Love you,” he says swiftly before slipping out the door.
“Hi,” Glinda says again in the silence that follows Fiyero’s departure.
“Hi.” Elphaba takes a step towards her and reaches out to push a strand of hair out of Glinda’s face. “Heard you were nervous,” she smiles.
“Deeply,” Glinda laughs. “Are you not?”
“Oh, no. I’m terrified,” she admits with a deep grin. “Can I – can I kiss you?” She asks softly. “Or are we still operating on normative first-date rules?”
Glinda rolls her eyes and closes the distance between them, leaving a lingering kiss to her lips. “You look… really good,” Glinda says when they part, giving the other woman a pointed once-over. She’s wearing a white shirt, one Glinda’s sure she’s probably seen before, but this time it’s unbuttoned one too many buttons and the laurel wreath tattoos below her collarbones are just barely visible.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Upland,” she smirks, taking a half-step back to admire the blonde. “Shall we?” Elphaba asks, gesturing to the door. Elphaba puts her own coat back on before pulling Glinda’s around her shoulders.
They walk, hand in hand, to a bar that Glinda’s never been to, only a few blocks away. She finds it difficult to pull her gaze from their joined hands, still trying to wrap her head around the strange and new way she’s allowed to be around Elphaba. They spent years sleeping together but have never once held hands; the act is more intimate than it should be.
Elphaba sees her looking and pulls their joined hands to her mouth, leaving a kiss to the back of Glinda’s hand. “It’s weird, I know.” There’s a smile in her voice when she says it.
The rest of the evening passes the same way, pressed too close in a small booth at the back of a dimly lit cocktail bar, knees knocking against each other until Glinda places a hand on Elphaba’s thigh and holds it there. Elphaba keeps reaching for her hands across the table, fidgeting with the ring on Glinda’s pinky – anything to keep their hands on each other.
Elphaba drags her a few blocks further, insisting, “This is the best ramen in the city, and this is the best time to go because no one is willing to stand in line when it’s 18 degrees out.” Luckily, she’s right on both accounts. The restaurant is tiny and warm, and Elphaba gesticulates too wildly for the small space, nearly knocking something over every time she gets excited. Glinda’s laughing and falling more in love with her by the minute.
“Let’s go home,” Glinda murmurs, tucked into Elphaba’s side, as they sidestep piles of dingy snow on the sidewalk.
“Like – home to… your home? My home? Separate homes?” Elphaba stutters.
“My home,” Glinda says decisively. “It’s two blocks closer.”
Glinda shoulders open the door, hanging her coat and then Elphaba’s. She wrings her hands, suddenly nervous again. “Do you want a drink?” She asks just to fill the air.
Elphaba chuckles at her, not unkindly. “No, not really.” Her hands are at Glinda’s waist as she guides her gently until her back hits the edge of the counter, Elphaba’s hips trapping her there. Her mouth hovers above Glinda’s, warm breath blooming across Glinda’s lips. “Tell me to stop – if you want me to.”
Glinda doesn’t have words for how much she doesn’t want Elphaba to stop, so instead, she presses forward ever so slightly, lips finding Elphaba’s easily until the world narrows to the soft scratch of dull nails against the nape of her neck, to the slide of Elphaba’s tounge against her bottom lip, to the row of buttons at the front of her shirt that Glinda undoes with hands that feel more sure than she does.
“Can we -” Glinda starts, canting her head towards the bedroom.
“Please,” Elphaba pleads, shirt nearly falling off her shoulders, only the last two buttons still clasped. She looks a mess and Glinda tries to justify the sudden dryness of her mouth at the sight in front of her.
Glinda lets a finger trace the elegant line of her, from jaw to the hem of her barely-there shirt. “You’re so pretty,” she whispers reverently, watching a dark green blush creep up her chest. Then, with a playful grin, Elphaba stoops and picks Glinda up off the floor. Glinda wraps her legs immediately around her waist with a startled sound, hands falling to the muscle of Elphaba’s arms.
“You were talking too long,” Elphaba quips, walking across Glinda’s small apartment in a few long strides.
She pulls open the first door in the hallway and Glinda detaches herself from Elphaba’s neck to say, “Nope, that’s a closet. Next door.”
Elphaba kicks the door closed again. “We shant go back in there,” she jokes with a wide grin, pushing through the next door and depositing Glinda ungracefully onto her bed. Elphaba steps back and peers around the dark room before flicking on a small lamp that sits on Glinda’s bookcase. “I want to see you,” she explains with a self-conscious shrug.
“Come here, baby,” Glinda demands, propped up on her elbows, still dressed. Elphaba heeds her and crawls up the length of her body, mouth finding the slope of Glinda’s neck.
Elphaba undresses her slowly, and the tiny part of Glinda’s brain that isn’t occupied by the woman in front of her marvels at how supremely dissimilar this is to every other time they’ve had sex. It’s almost an entirely different act. Slow and unhurried and deliberate. Elphaba’s mouth sucks a mark into the underside of her breast, and all rational thoughts are gone from Glinda’s mind.
Glinda unclaps Elphaba’s bra and, teeth tugging gently at the metal piercing, finally gets the answer to the question she’d asked Elphaba at the bar those many weeks ago as she draws a sharp gasp from the woman above her.
They’re naked and tangled together, the white of Glinda’s sheets a stunning contrast against Elphaba’s green skin. Glinda rolls them over until she’s straddling Elphaba’s thighs, letting a deferent hand follow the elegant lines of her form. Elphaba skates her hands up Glinda’s waist, urging her on.
“Shh. Stop it,” Glinda chastises, smacking her side playfully. “I’m trying to admire you.” She presses a deliberate kiss to a tattoo along her ribs that reads, ‘and look! look! look!’ Another of a marble statue on the inside of her bicep, a phrase in Italian that she doesn’t recognize, the candlestick on her thigh, a blackberry bramble curled around her hip. Some are new to Glinda, some, she’s kissed like this before. She’ll ask about them later, she decides.
She dips her head again and finds herself situated between Elphaba’s legs, leaving a lingering kiss high on the inside of her thigh, catching Elphaba’s dark eyes as she does so. “I love you so fucking much,” she whispers, breath warm against Elphaba’s center, before running her tongue reverently through the other woman. Glinda moans against her at the taste, the familiarity of it in this entirely unfamiliar way.
Elphaba breathes out a soft, “fuck” and Glinda realizes that, when she dies, she wants to come back as a curse falling from Elphaba’s lips.
Glinda takes her time, something she never afforded herself before, revels in the taste of her, the sound, the way her face screws up when it nearly becomes too much. “So beautiful,” Glinda mutters, mostly to herself, but Elphaba groans deeper. She adds a deft finger and then another, curling them in a way she remembers always made Elphaba cry out. She cries out, and Glinda can’t help but smirk to herself.
“Come for me, baby,” Glinda hums.
“Fuck, Galinda – I –” she pants. Something tugs at Glinda; Elphaba uttering her old name like a prayer.
“I got you, you’re so good, I love you,” Glinda whispers against her as Elphaba’s body arches beautifully off the mattress, one hand tangled in Glinda’s hair, the other fisting tightly in her sheets. Glinda brings her down slowly, as if to wring every ounce of pleasure from her. When she finally sits back on her heels, wiping her chin on the back of her forearm, Elphaba is gazing at her with hazed eyes and a heaving chest.
“You know,” Elphaba starts and Glinda can already hear the laughter, the wonder in her voice, “when you said you wanted to ‘do this right,’ I didn’t realize your definition of ‘right’ was sleeping together on the first date,” Elphaba smirks with a disbelieving laugh. Glinda rolls her eyes and crawls back up Elphaba’s long body, slotting herself against the green woman as though the space were carved out for her.
“The fact that we made it this long is a miracle in and of itself,” Glinda muses. Elphaba quirks her lips into a soft smile and Glinda wonders if maybe she won’t actually survive this, maybe she doesn’t want to. Elphaba’s hand skims over the dip of Glinda’s waist, the line of her ribs, thumb running teasingly along the curve of her breast. “Someone’s eager,” Glinda breathes, ignoring the hitch in her words.
“Very,” Elphaba hums, mouth closing over a nipple, Glinda gasping lightly at the sensation. And then, astonishingly, the only thing that matters at all to Glinda is Elphaba. Green hands on Glinda’s skin, her tongue licking up the column of Glinda’s throat, the press of her thigh between Glinda’s legs, the warmth of her body against Glinda’s.
She’s kissing along the edge of Glinda’s ribcage, hands already moving lower, mouth following the same route, when Glinda grasps at Elphaba’s jaw, pulls her back up.
“Stay here,” Glinda pleads, kissing her messily, hungrily. “I need to hold you.” Elphaba kisses her back and lets her hand wander lower, running over the crease of her thigh, gently pushing against Glinda until she falls open for her.
“Good girl,” Elphaba praises softly, as she slowly, torturously, parts Glinda, long fingers running through slick heat. They both moan at the contact and Glinda buries her face into Elphaba’s neck, overcome by the sensation, the emotion, everything.
Elphaba teases her slowly, until Glinda is drawn up and breathless under her, hands tangled in dark hair to ground her, Elphaba’s mouth against hers. “What do you need, baby?” Elphaba asks, and the term of endearment is so foreign and lovely that Glinda could melt into her.
“You, this, more,” Glinda incants nonsensically. Elphaba seems to understand and presses two fingers into her as an unholy sound is ripped from Glinda’s throat.
“Gorgeous,” Elphaba mutters, lips tracing the shell of her ear as her thumb swipes against Glinda’s clit, her hips rocking into Elphaba’s hand.
Time stops briefly, or it goes on forever. Nothing makes sense anymore, nothing matters except the feeling of Elphaba curling her deft fingers as Glinda tightens around her. “That’s it, my love. Let go. You’re so fucking pretty like this.”
Then, Glinda’s gasping silently into Elphaba’s mouth, body gone taut, holding the green woman against her like a lifeline, as she comes hard around her fingers.
When she returns to herself, Elphaba is still pressed tightly to her side, licking the remnants of Glinda’s orgasm off her own fingers in a way that turns Glinda on again embarrassingly quickly.
“I could do that forever,” Elphaba muses, dropping a kiss to the side of Glinda’s head.
“I might just let you,” the blonde replies, drunk on the other woman.
The night stretches on, the world doesn’t exist outside their lamplit room.
When Elphaba finally collapses onto the bed next to Glinda with a soft sound, Glinda turns to her with a tired smirk. “You’re staying here tonight,” she decides.
Elphaba huffs out a laugh, “Thanks for not kicking me out onto the cold, mean streets.”
“Turn the light out,” Glinda demands, already feeling the exhaustion pulling at her bones. “And then you’re going to hold me and we’re going to sleep together like people who love each other.”
Elphaba clicks off the lamp, slipping quickly back under the sheets and into Glinda’s warmth. A strong arm wraps around her waist, pulling Glinda’s back flush against Elphaba’s front. Glinda tangles her fingers with Elphaba’s, their joined hands resting against her stomach.
Elphaba leaves a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Goodnight, Galinda,” she breathes softly.
“I love you.”
_________
The sun rises late this deep into winter, and the flurry of snow outside the windows makes the room feel that much colder. Glinda blinks awake, the remnants of a dream fading quickly. And then the reality all comes rushing back to her: Elphaba pulling her down the frozen sidewalk by their joined hands, her shirt almost entirely unbuttoned as she stood in Glinda’s kitchen, Glinda’s name choked out of her mouth, body perfect and arched and stunning.
The bed is cold next to her.
Glinda sits up with a start, fully awake with a heavy dread sinking deep into her gut. The door is barely cracked and Elphaba is gone. There’s a tiny part of Glinda that wonders if this whole thing, these last months, were a long and horrible dream. She would deserve it if it were.
But no, there’s an ache in her muscles and a hickie on her tits that would suggest everything that happened last night was entirely real and now over. Glinda’s sitting in bed, sheets pooled around her waist, blinking up at the ceiling to keep from crying so she doesn’t hear Elphaba nudge open the door.
“You’re awake!” Elphaba chirps happily and Glinda slams her head around so quickly she nearly hurts herself. Elphaba doesn’t notice the tumult of emotions Glinda’s just gone through. “I don’t actually know how you drink your coffee, but there’s no half and half in the fridge, so I’m assuming black?”
Elphaba’s wearing her white button-up, wrinkled from a night spent tossed on the floor, and nothing else, holding two mugs, steam rising in the weak light. Glinda’s out of bed and crossing the room in seconds, pushing Elphaba firmly against the doorframe as the green woman tries not to spill the coffee. Before Elphaba can say anything, Glinda’s pressed against her and kissing her – hard. Elphaba responds, all lips and tongue and Glinda’s hands holding tight to her bare hips.
“Don’t,” Glinda says firmly when they part, “do that again.”
Elphaba’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, mugs held away from her body. “Wha…?”
“You weren’t here,” Glinda says, voice still holding an edge of hurt. “I woke up and you were gone.”
The mugs are on the side table instantly, Elphaba’s arms around her. “Baby, no,” she murmurs into blonde hair. “I’m so sorry, I was in your kitchen, I didn’t realize how it would look.”
Glinda’s hands grip the fabric of her shirt tightly before she pulls back, shaking her head. “No, I’m sorry. I panicked – old habits.”
Elphaba kisses her again, much more gently. “You’re good. I’m here,” she says, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone and looking at her with more adoration than Glinda can handle.
“Honey,” Glinda says consicely.
“Yeah?”
“No, I mean, I drink coffee with honey.” Elphaba laughs deeply at herself and disappears back to the kitchen with one of the mugs. Glinda’s back in bed, sitting against the headboard when she returns, passing the mug to the blonde before grabbing her own. Glinda shakes her head when Elphaba tries to slip under the sheets. “Nope, that’s gotta go,” she points at the only article of clothing Elphaba’s wearing. Though if Glinda were being entirely honest, she’s not at all mad at the way Elphaba’s nipple piercings are visible through the thin fabric.
The green woman rolls her eyes but undoes the one button holding the shirt together, letting it fall off her shoulders and back onto the floor. “Better?”
“Perfect,” Glinda grins. She means it.
Elphaba returns to bed, slotting herself against Glinda, elbows bumping each time one of them lifts their mug. Eventually, Glinda puts her cup on the nightstand, free hand coming to rest on Elphaba’s thigh.
“I really like this,” she says quietly into the brightening air.
“Me too,” Elphaba admits.
Glinda looks at her with a tender kind of desperation. “Do you think we’re being insane? Do you think we’re falling into old patterns?”
Elphaba holds her gaze for a moment, thinking. “No,” she says decisively. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never felt so clear-headed about anything. I went in with my eyes open this time. I think you did too.”
Glinda nods. “Entirely.”
“So then I hope you don’t think we’re making a mistake.”
“I don’t think so, not really,” Glinda says. “I just couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you again.”
Elphaba shrugs. “So don’t,” she says, as though it’s that simple. And, perhaps, this time, it is.
“I really do love you,” Glinda says, looking down at where her hand draws shapeless patterns against Elphaba’s bare leg. “I know that’s a crazy thing to say after a first date,” she laughs, “but it’s not a crazy thing to say after all these years.”
Elphaba lifts her chin with a long finger until Glinda meets her eyes. “I love you, too,” she says, honesty ringing clear and true into the cold morning. “I want this, I want to be with you. I don’t want to waste more time.”
“Me neither,” Glinda says softly, smile brimming. “Let’s not, then.”
Elphaba grins back and kisses her quickly. “Let’s not,” she agrees. “Give me your mug, I’ll put them away,” she says easily, stepping from the tangled sheets of the bed.
Glinda watches her go. “Hold up,” she says sharply as Elphaba leaves the bedroom. “Do you have a tattoo on your ass?” Elphaba cackles loudly from down the hall.
When she returns, she leans against the doorframe, still fully undressed, arms crossed, grin cocky. Glinda’s heart swoops at the sight. “I do, indeed, have a tattoo on my ass,” she says, trying to suppress her laughter.
“Obviously, you’re going to have to come here and show me.”
Elphaba does as she’s asked and returns to the bed, lying face down. Her back is pretty well covered in one large, intricate piece: a snake curled around the stem of a rose, below it, the word Zero. She’d had Zero against her spine from before, Glinda remembers. But, true to her word, there’s a small tattoo on the soft muscle of her ass. Glinda presses a finger to it. “What the fuck is this?” She asks.
Elphaba lifts her head and cranes her neck around to look at the blonde. “It’s a meteor. You can’t tell?”
“No, I can tell. What on earth does it mean?”
“You don’t know it?” Elphaba asks.
Glinda lets her hands brush over the snake. “I know this one,” Glinda answers. “Look like the innocent flower, be the serpent under’t. Lady Macbeth.”
“Correct.”
“And I remember Zero but I never knew what it meant,” Glinda says, fingers tracing the letters.
“You know it. It’s another snake poem.” Glinda’s quiet, thinking. Elphaba continues to give out clues. “By one of my all-time favorites. She’s big into the em-dash.”
“Dickinson.” Elphaba nods and Glinda hums, thinking. “Zero… zero. Oh! I got it. Never met this fellow/attended or alone/without a tighter breathing/and zero at the bone. God, I adore that one.”
“Me too,” Elphaba mumbles.
“You do really love Dickinson, don’t you?” Glinda smiles.
“Who wouldn’t!” Elphaba cries. “She’s the baddest bitch around.”
Glinda scoffs. “You’re the only person who’s ever called Emily Dickinson ‘a bad bitch.’”
Elphaba turns her head again so she can see the blonde out of the corner of her eye. “She’s so fucking cool. No one was writing like that at the time, especially not a young woman,” she argues. “Also – she had a lifelong afair with her brother’s wife. C’mon. Bad bitch behaviour, right there.”
“I suppose you guys have that in common,” Glinda jokes. Elphaba gives her a confused look, eyebrows raised. “A years-long affair with a girl who didn’t think she was gay? Ring a bell?” Glinda smirks and Elphaba rolls her eyes but huffs out a short laugh at the joke.
“Glinda — forevermore!” Elphaba says with a dramatic sigh.
“But what’s with the meteorite?” Glinda laughs, grabbing her ass playfully.
“That’s a long one – where’s my phone?” Elphaba pushes up and turns over so she’s lying on her back again, one hand resting on Glinda’s hip, the other propping her phone up as she scrolls through her notes app for a minute. “Here it is – Audre Lorde. She wrote, I want to live the rest of my life, however long or short, with as much sweetness as I can decently manage, loving all the people I love, and doing as much as I can of the work I still have to do. I am going to write fire until it comes out my ears, my eyes, my noseholes – everywhere. Until it’s every breath I breathe. I’m going to go out like a fucking meteor!”
Glinda smiles so hard it hurts. “I’m going to go out like a fucking meteor,” she repeats. “I love you. You’re insane.”
“Perhaps,” Elphaba tosses her phone back onto the nightstand and pulls Glinda into her arms.
Glinda slots herself against the green woman, head falling against her shoulder. She runs a finger across the text on her ribcage. “Last question, I promise,” Glinda says. “What about this one? It’s new.”
i beg what i love and i leave to forgive me.
Something nearly imperceptible shifts in Elphaba – a tightening of the spine or a catch of her breath. Glinda isn’t sure, but she feels the air change slightly. Elphaba glances at the ink. “New to you,” she corrects. “It’s Lucille Clifton.”
Glinda nods against her. “I know that much. i am running into a new year. What does it mean to you?” Glinda clarifies.
Elphaba doesn’t answer for a long moment, and Glinda says nothing, letting her fill the silence if she decides she wants to. When she finally speaks, her voice is threaded with an emotion Glinda can’t name. “I got it after we – I suppose ‘broke up’ isn’t quite what we did – after we…” She hunts for the right word.
“Ended,” Glinda supplies.
“Yeah,” Elphaba says slowly. “I got it after we ended our thing, and I was hurt and lost and in love with someone who could never love me back.” Glinda feels an actual ache in her heart at this, a pulling of pain in her chest. “To me, the poem reads as both an apology to one’s past self and a promise to try to move on one day. That last line, i beg what i love and i leave to forgive me – it’s like a plea. And I sort of see both myself and you as the things that I loved and left. I think, subconsciously, I wanted to be able to forgive myself, and I wanted you to be able to forgive me.”
The snow is still falling outside. The sun is still rising cold and grey against the window panes. Glinda sits up again, pulling Elphaba with her, until they’re seated cross-legged on the bed across from one another. Glinda holds Elphaba’s hands in both of hers. “We could probably spend the rest of our lives apologizing to each other. God knows I have enough to apologize for on my own. I want you to know how much I would mean it, how much guilt I still feel about it all. But mostly, I want us to let the old years blow back like a wind,” Glinda says firmly, quoting the same poem. “You were right before, I don’t think we can erase everything that happened, I wouldn’t want to anyway. But I do want to try, again and again, with you.”
Elphaba leans forward and kisses her with more tenderness than Glinda ever thought possible. “Then let’s try,” she says. “I love you. I always have, I probably always will. If that’s okay with you.”
“More than okay,” Glinda sighs, cradling Elphaba’s face with a sure hand. “I love you. Let’s do this.”
They spend the rest of the day like this, tangled in each other, learning one another again. Glinda thinks absently that they could spend the rest of their lives like this, finding themselves in each other again.
(They do.)