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Lupe wakes up with the smell of potatoes in her nose.
Fried potatoes in the pan, with garlic, onion, and other heavenly things too. Without opening her eyes, she knows that Jess has been in the kitchen again, making breakfast for the two of them.
They’d moved to Chicago together during the start of the off-season, neither of them really knowing what to do without baseball going on in their lives.
Jess had said, Hey, d’you know what you’re doing for the next half a year or so after this? Wanna come to the city with me?
And, well. It wasn’t like Lupe had anything planned for after the season, and besides, she wasn’t going to say no to an adventure, especially with Jess.
They ended up renting a small, but decent apartment above a mechanic’s shop, who lets them work shifts downstairs as partial payment on their rent, and sometimes invites them over for dinner. It’s all quite nice, really. The mechanic, Nic, is just as butch as the two of them, old and tough with a heart of gold, and doesn’t mind their antics.
Other than the kitchen, they’ve got a bathroom and a small bedroom. They have to share the bed, but that isn’t a big problem. Jess and her are brothers. They trust each other. It’s not a big deal.
Lupe, prompted by the growling of her stomach, wanders towards the kitchen.
Jess is sitting at the table, and grins at her, canines shining.
“Guess what,” Jess says, as Lupe sits down and starts shoveling potatoes into her mouth.
“What,” she responds, muffled by the potatoes. The potatoes are really fucking good, actually. She swallows. “Did you use the cumin I bought us?”
“Yeah, I did,” Jess says smugly. “I put paprika in that too.”
“Good. You’re finally learning about spices. ”
Jess puts her hands up indignantly. “It’s not my fuckin’ fault that Canada doesn’t have shit, okay.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, man.”
Jess gets a shit-eating grin on her face. “So you like the potatoes, huh? You like the potatoes. I fucking know you do.”
Lupe flips her fork around, pretends she doesn’t care. “Yeah. The potatoes are really fucking good. Or whatever.”
But her face gives her away, and Jess laughs in response.
Between another forkful of food, Lupe asks, “Is that it, then? Is that what you wanted to say to me?”
“Nah. I was going to say it’s almost Christmas. I got you a gift, by the way. I think you’ll really like it.”
She chokes. “Fuck,” she coughs. “Really?”
Lupe had completely forgotten that was happening. Shit! She hadn’t gotten anything for Jess.
“Yeah, of course, man,” Jess says. “Are you okay?”
She’s still coughing. Fucking potatoes.
“I’m fine,” Lupe manages. “I’m great.” She downs her glass of water, relieved at the coolness of it.
They eat the rest of breakfast in silence. Jess is taking the earlier shift today, and she’s getting ready to leave now, so Lupe follows her to the door.
“I’ll do the dishes,” She tells her. “Be safe.”
“Thanks,” Jess says, clapping Lupe on the shoulder. “See you later.”
Then, before Lupe can register what’s happening, Jess leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. Then she’s gone just as fast as it happened, already down the stairs, the sound of boots fading out.
Lupe doesn’t think much of it at first. After all, it’s happened before, at the bar, back when they were with the Peaches. But then it hits her, in the middle of doing the dishes.
Over the last months, they’ve fallen into a rhythm of sorts with their lives. They eat together. Wake up together, fall asleep together. They see each other every single day, and Lupe hasn’t been with any women since they got here. It’s started getting bone-chillingly cold in Chicago, and she’s never lived anywhere this cold before, so sometimes she finds herself closer than usual to Jess at night, shivering. And sometimes, as if like answering a prayer, Jess will reach for her, warm and soft - even with all the callouses from playing ball. They never talk about it, and the lines between them blur on, and they blur on.
Today. The breakfast, and then the kiss. It’s like they’re … all domestic and shit.
“The fuck,” She grumbles out loud to nobody in particular.
Well. They’re friends. It’s got to be normal. But Lupe has never had a friend like Jess before, not like this, and she has a feeling it’s the same way for Jess too.
She expected this new thought to bury itself back into wherever it had unearthed itself from in her mind after a bit, but it refused.
A drop of soap bubbles against her forearm, and she realizes she’s just been unconsciously scrubbing the fuck out of a plate for the last five minutes.
Fuck it. She could use a distraction.
That’s how Lupe finds herself downtown, looking into the window of every store, drawn in by the blinding, bedazzled holiday advertisements. She shuffles through the cold, wearing three layers of coats and her leather jacket, cap on her head and smoke in her mouth. It’s hard to light a cigarette wearing thick gloves, so she didn’t bring hers, and now she’s really regretting that choice. The wind makes everything biting and unforgiving.
She thinks of Jess then, and Canada, and how the cold must be so much worse there. Smiles to herself at the thought of Jess bundled up. It wouldn’t be as cold, only if Jess was next to her, bumping a shoulder into her.
The wind picks up again, sending a shudder through her body.
“Stupid fucking lake,” Lupe mutters. “Stupid fucking lake weather, fucking my shit up.”
Eventually, she passes by a pawnshop, which appeals to her with its promises of holiday discounts. The inside is full of shiny goods, old but polished. She’s sure she can get Jess something here.
Wandering through the stacks of antiques and rifling through things, her eye finally catches on a pocketknife: M. Klein And Sons - double blades.
Jess had been complaining lately about not having her hunting knife with her - not that she needed it in a city like Chicago. Lupe suspected that for Jess, her hunting knife back in Moose Jaw was probably one of those objects of comfort that people just had.
Well, the one she was looking at was no hunting knife, but it could be nice for Jess to have in the meantime.
She buys it then without a second thought.
On the way home, she feels its weight in her pocket, wrapped in her handkerchief, pressing into her abdomen. It comforts her against the freezing wind all the way back.
*
Christmas Eve, and they’re both in the kitchen, Jess deboning a chicken and Lupe cutting up vegetables.
It’s a good day for chicken soup, with it being so cold out, and with an entire chicken between the two of them, they’ll have soup for days.
Lupe watches Jess’s swift work, mesmerized by the knife and Jess’s hands; watches the knuckles in her hand shift one by one like a chain reaction.
Jess, without looking up from the bird, says, “I did this a lot back at home,” and she slips the carcass into the broth.
Lupe stops staring then, eyes quickly darting back to her cutting board. “Yeah, I bet.”
Her head pulses in pain weakly. It’s been getting worse ever since she got back from going out. She takes a second to rest, putting the knife down and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Lu, are you feeling okay?” Jess inquires softly, stopping her work to come to where Lupe is.
“My body feels like jelly,” Lupe grumbles. “It’s probably fine, though. I went outside earlier and it was cold as shit. I just have a headache, that’s all.”
She looks at Jess then, and Jess isn’t reassured by this at all. Her brows are creased as she looks over Lupe, mouth twisting with worry. She’s quiet, eyes flickering around, and Lupe feels every spot they land on.
For some...reason, it makes her guts warm. God , was she getting sick?
“Go lay down for a bit, okay?” I’ll finish this,” Jess says finally, thumbing at the pot on the stove.
“I’m fine,” Lupe tries, but Jess won’t have any of it.
“Just go lay down, it’ll be alright. I’ll just put the rest of this in that pot and it’ll cook real easy.”
“Jess,” she attempts again, but decides not to argue after looking into her eyes and seeing Jess concerned.
Lupe eventually settles on a soft thanks, and goes to promptly collapse on the bed.
Thanks for what? For making the rest of the soup? For making me rest, for worrying about me?
Her head throbbed, and she tugged the pillow around her head, as if it could drown out the pain. It didn’t.
She felt a dull aching in her body, and knew that she, in fact, must really be getting sick. She hasn’t gotten sick since she was much younger; remembers being miserable and cold.
Lupe blinks once, twice, and the ceiling starts to swirl, hazy.
Oh. She’s so tired, and everything hurts, and that makes it easy to close her eyes. Her last thought before blacking out is shit, I forgot to wrap Jess’s gift .
*
After that, she drifts in and out of consciousness.
She’s so thirsty, and the room is so hot. When did it get dark outside? How long has she been asleep for?
Is Jess eating dinner by herself? Jess. Jess.
Where’s Jess?
Somehow, she makes it out of bed. Limping around their apartment, muscles like liquid; the pain sloshing around her body wherever she shifts her weight.
In the kitchen, the soup is still in the pot, still warm. There’s an empty bowl on the table.
“Jess?” Lupe croaks quietly. No response. Jess isn’t here, she realizes, and that crushes her.
She can’t find the means to crawl back to bed. She manages to get herself on the couch, and curls up with her knees pulled in.
*
The next time she wakes up again, she’s wrapped in blankets, a cool cloth on her head.
There’s a hand that isn’t hers - it’s running through her hair, brushing it out of her face.
You’ve got a fever , the hand says - no, not the hand - it’s another person.
Where did you go, Lupe tries. I was looking for you.
“I’m sorry,” comes Jess’s voice from above. “Nic needed help with a thing downstairs, and you were sleeping, so I went. I didn’t think it would take long.”
Sweet, sweet Jess. If she wasn’t so dehydrated, she would have started crying.
Lupe grabs her hand. Jess lets her, says, How are you feeling, Lu?
Bad, she hears herself respond. Her own voice sounds so far away.
Jess keeps fucking stroking her hair in response, with those fingers of hers. Lupe tries her best to not do something stupid, like whine out loud. She hasn’t had anyone take care of her like this in years, and it makes her feel all stupid and wobbly.
It’s the fucking fever’s fault.
Lupe knows she definitely didn’t make it back to bed by herself, which means that Jess must’ve picked her up and carried her here. Jess, who must’ve ran cold water over the cloth on her forehead and folded it with care so that it’d sit right on her face.
(Jess has always been so good to her. Why didn’t she notice until now?)
She’s flushing when she murmurs, “Sorry you had to carry me back here.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Jess says, then looks at her in the eye, soft.
“It’s no big deal.”
Lupe feels like a wounded animal in that moment, gazing back at her. She wants. Wants Jess to fold in so close, sink in against her and hold her down.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she knows— knows what this feeling means, and it terrifies her, because it’s bigger and more real than anything she’s ever held close to her heart before. It’s a heavy feeling, and Lupe doesn’t know how to tell Jess, doesn’t know if she should. Jess has always been good at reading her, and she’s scared that it’s showing on her face.
“Jess,” she begins feverishly, “I want, I—” No. Cuts off herself before it comes spilling out of her.
“What is it, Lu?”
Lupe turns her face away, burning. “Nothing,” she says quietly.
But then:
“It’s okay to want,” Jess says gently.
Jaw tense, she responds weakly, “But you— you don’t know what I was talking about. I can’t, not here, I can’t.” Looks back up into blue eyes. “I can’t, not for this.”
“It’s okay, Lu, it’s okay.” Jess’s thumb gliding over her brow. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” Lupe whispers sleepily.
They’re both silent now, and she falls asleep to the feeling of Jess’s fingers threading through her curls, leaning in on Jess’s hand.
*
Her face is pressed against something warm. Familiar. Blood rushes to her head when she realizes it’s Jess’s body, and she jumps away (even though it’s happened so many times before).
At least she’s much better. The fever is gone, and her body doesn’t hurt all over anymore.
The windowsill is cold, but it’s beautiful out: the city is not quite fully awake yet, and it’s quieter than usual.
In the bed, Jess stirs. “Merry Christmas,” she says, voice rough with sleep.
“Merry Christmas,” Lupe returns, looking at the hollow where Jess’s collar bones meet; her strong, wiry arms; white undershirt riding up, exposing her stomach.
She knows she’s staring openly now, and that Jess can tell.
Their eyes meet. Lupe’s gaze flickers to Jess’s mouth. For a split second, she thinks she sees Jess do the same, and feels she’s going crazy.
Then, Jess gets this look on her face, says roughly, “come here,” and she does, heart thumping in her throat.
Lupe lays back down.
Jess fucking McCready reaches for her, hand on the back of her head, pulls her in. They don’t kiss. Instead, Jess says:
“Do you want your present? It’s in the other room.”
What the fuck. Was Jess making fun of her or something? Unfairly, the feeling bubbled up inside of her, tugging on her stomach.
But it was Christmas, and she didn’t want to make things unhappy.
“Sure,” she said weakly.
Jess grins, showing all her teeth, and leaps out of bed. bounding away. Lupe follows her into the kitchen where Jess is standing, holding a large object behind her back.
It’s a cast iron skillet. Lupe can’t help but smile. She’s wanted to buy one for a while now, but hasn’t.
“It doubles as a weapon too,” Jess is explaining with a glint in her eye.
“Thank you,” Lupe says with reverence. She clears her throat. “I’ll make you cornbread with this.”
“ Fuck yeah.”
“I have something for you too, actually.” She goes to her jacket to retrieve the pocketknife. Holds it out to Jess.
“You were always talking about how you missed your knife back at home, so. I thought I’d get you one. It’s not the same thing, but—”
Jess gets up and pulls Lupe against her, holding her tightly.
“Thanks,” she murmurs into Lupe’s ear. “I love it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I do,” Jess says, pulling back. “It has two blades. That’s so fucking awesome.”
(She finds Jess’s enthusiasm about the knife completely endearing.)
Jess’s hands are still on her shoulders, and she’s impulsive.
Lupe puts a hand on Jess’s waist, walks forwards briskly, backs Jess into the wall, puts her other hand onto Jess’s sharp jaw.
Pauses. She wants to ask if it’s okay, if Jess wants her— but before she can do so, Jess says fuck and kisses her, warm and plush against her mouth.
It’s electrifying. “You have no idea—” Jess gasps between the touches,”—I, I’ve wanted this—“
And Lupe says me too , presses into her. Somehow, they’ve made it to the couch, and Jess McCready is in her lap . She feels fucking insane, like she’s floating out of her body.
Then, her stomach growls. Loudly.
They stop. Jess fucking giggles (it’s one of the sweetest sounds she’s ever heard).
“Uh. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday,” Lupe admits sheepishly.
“Shit,” Jess says. Her cheeks are tinged pink. “Good thing I made so much soup, then.”
*
They have chicken soup for breakfast.
Lupe looks at Jess across from her, over their bowls, and thinks I love you. For a moment, she almost says it, but then it passes.
Jess looks at her and smiles when their eyes meet, and that’s when Lupe knows that Jess already knows. Besides, they have all the time in the world to say it.