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“Tintin, what do you think looks better?”
Martine turned away from her wardrobe to Tintin lying on the bed with two dresses in her hand. Tintin was deep in thought, staring at the ceiling and most likely planning their latest adventure or working out how to write up their last one. Martine laughed and sat next to them.
“If you’re not interested you can wait elsewhere until we have to leave...” she blushed a little and stared at the ground, fidgeting with the edge of a dress “I don’t mind, honestly, it is rather boring and I kno-“
“N-no!” Tintin sat straight up from the bed “Martine, I want to be here, I got a bit too caught up in my thinking. I’m sorry.”
They reached out and gently stroked the back of Martine’s hand before holding it. She smiled, Tintin had to be the most comforting person she’d ever met in her life.
She sighed and shook her head, a knot forming in her stomach.
“It’s fine, I’m just getting worried.” Martine mumbled and tugged on her bra strap, a habit she could never break.
Her parents still loved her, she knew they did. But things had never been the same when she came out them to. Dinners now laced with tension, her father’s eyes never shined the same way when they looked at her and extended family never visited the house anymore. Memories of arguments, slammed doors and tears streaming down her face flooded back to Martine.
“I just...” She closed her eyes “5 years without speaking. No letters, invites or calls. Nothing. Then, out of nowhere, they ask me to cover over for Sunday dinner. “We missed you sweetheart!” “Darling come home!””
Martine bent her head over.
“Mama just about understands now. Papa never will. But they try and... I don’t want to cut them out my life again Tintin.”
Tintin gave her a sad smile. They pulled her hand closer and squeezed it, the dress falling onto her knee and placed a kiss on her hand.
“Martine, you don’t need to explain or justify yourself. At the end of the day, so long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters. If they say anything that hurts, we can both tell them. Together.”
Martine nodded and bit her lip, for the first time she wanted to cry. Relief. Understanding.
“Thank you Tintin” she whispered.
Tintin leaned over and picked the fallen dress up, pale floral patterns with a lace collar. They looked at the other dress, a flowing ankle length red satin dress.
“I think you’d look lovely in the floral. You look beautiful in patterns Martine”
She blushed “Y-you think so?”
“I know so.”
Martine laughed and sniffed, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Oh, oh!” She wiped the tear away “I’m so sorry, I’m such an embarrassment sometimes.”
“You’re not Martine.” Tintin pulled a handkerchief out their pocket and gave it to her “You’re a wonderful woman who makes me grin.”
She smiled and placed it back in their hand “I’ll be alright, let me just get changed”
Tintin nodded and watched her go into the bathroom, leaning back to stare at the ceiling again.
-
They remembered when Martine had stuttered about coming to her parents at the airport, how later they went back to Marlinspike together and chatted at length in the car, ignoring the Captains playful jabs at the two “young lovers.” How Tintin had gently leaned in and kissed her cheek as they said goodbye to Martine.
How a week later, with shaking hands and shy smiles on their faces, they sat on her bed and shared their experiences; Tintin who ran away to lead a life of adventure and freedom, away from stiff petticoats and tight dresses forced onto them, away from the prospect of a forced marriage that their parents thought would “cure” them. Martine who went to live in the city to start afresh with her love of art, who asked for dolls every Christmas and was given a tool set instead, how her closest friend would lend her dresses to wear that’d she hide under her bed and how she finally worked up the courage to tell her parents to stop treating her as someone she wasn't.
“My father looked like he could strangle someone” she had whispered, rubbing her shoulder and staring off into the distance as if she was back at the kitchen table that very night again.
Tintin had wrapped their hands around hers.
“Martine, I’ve been around the world twice, seen people give their lives for heroic and noble causes of all kinds.” They looked straight into her bright brown eyes and whispered “But all of their bravery pales in comparison to yours.”
-
Martine stepped out the bathroom in the floral dress and twirled around for Tintin.
“I think you’re right, patterns do look quite nice on me!”
Tintin grinned “Want me to plait your hair?”
Martine nodded and walked over to her vanity, sitting down on the stool. Tintin got up from the bed and walked over, pulling out Martine’s hair from the bun she tied.
“I always say it’s like riding a bike, you never forget how to plait hair.”
Martine nodded “Absolutely, all the girls would flock to me in the playground because I was so good at it when I was younger. Nothing feels better than someone doing it for you”
She snorted suddenly “I remember one girl, Alice, had hair all the way down her back. I’d always dread her coming over because no matter what she asked for it would make my hands ache!”
Tintin smiled and began to tie the plait up, Martine hissed. They laughed.
“Sorry Martine.”
“It’s fine, I’ve had worse, trust me.”
Martine stared at herself in the mirror, her face blurred slightly without her glasses but she could still see how flattering the plait was on her face. Tintin sat beside her on the stool.
“Not a bad job if I say so myself.”
“I’d say it was a brilliant job, thank you Tintin. I always look better with my hair up.”
“Ah, but Martine, can you truly improve on perfection?” Tintin broke into a wide grin, they knew it was soppy but it was all worth it for the gorgeous smile Martine give them.
“I don’t know Tintin, I could ask the same thing to you” She booped their nose and kissed it.
They’d be late to her parents, Martine and Tintin rolling off the stool in a fit of giggles onto the floor, showering each other with heartfelt complements and kisses.
They could wait.