Work Text:
____________________
Blair Wesley (4:44p.m.)
Hey Hannah! I know this probably seems
weird, me texting you out-of-the-blue,
but I was wondering if you were going
home for winter break? Sterling was supposed
to come get me but her flight got delayed.
I understand if it’s too much, but if you’re driving
or somethign maybe I could bum a ride?
I’ll totally cover gas and any fast food expenses!
Hannah (4:56p.m.)
Blair Wesley!!!!
Hannah (4:56p.m.)
Gosh it’s good to hear from you!
Hannah (4:56p.m.)
I AM going home for break and
there IS room for you in my car!!
Blair Wesley (5:20p.m.)
You are seriously saving my life
Hannah thank u so much!!!!
Hannah (5:23p.m.)
Important question: can you drive
at night? Because legally I am not allowed
to and I have a late final on the 20th,
so we’d have to go after dinner!
Blair Wesley (5:24p.m.)
Do i want to know why ur legally
not allowed to drive at night?
Blair Wesley (5:28p.m.)
U know what? I don’t care
Blair Wesley (5:28p.m.)
The 20th works gr8. Meet at
the campus center at 8?
Hannah (7:30p.m.)
Sorry I was in class!!!!
Hannah (7:30p.m.)
Yes that works!!!
Hannah (7:30p.m.)
So excited I love a road trip
Hannah (7:31p.m.)
Also the driving thing is not what you think!!
I’m night blind and once I almost hit Professor
Wilks in a crosswalk so they (the police)
said I either had to stop driving after 6
or they’d take my license away.
Blair Wesley (7:31p.m.)
Isnt prof wilks like 100?
Hannah (7:31p.m.)
She’s 83!! And the EMTS said
she was totally fine she just passed
out from the shock
Blair Wesley (7:32p.m.)
Jfc u are a menace to society
Hannah (7:34p.m.)
Thank you!!! Can’t wait for our trip!!
.
.
Hannah (9:22p.m.)
Look at this meme!!
Hannah (9:22p.m.)
*Image attached*
Hannah (9:22p.m.)
*crying emoji* *crying emoji*
Hannah (9:22p.m.)
Stoner Shaggy is SO YOU!!
Blair Wesley (9:25p.m.)
Ur gonna make me regret this aren’t u
____________________
She and April have a standing FaceTime date every Thursday at 7pm, because Hannah doesn’t have her Astronomy lab on Thursdays and April doesn’t have morning classes on Fridays, so she isn’t as strict about her 9pm bedtime. Every week for the past year and a half, they’ve talked on the phone on Thursday evenings. Sometimes they’ll get the same takeout and eat together so they can pretend they’re in the same restaurant. Sometimes they share a computer screen so they can watch a movie together at the same time. But a lot of times they just end up talking. April, as it turns out, is a pretty insatiable gossip. Hannah has never much cared for gossip, but she loves telling a good story, and the ones about people are the ones April is the most interested in, so they spend their time chattering about celebrities, annoying students in their classes, people they graduated with who have since gotten engaged, and on and on and on.
It’s on one such evening, just as Hannah is tucking into a bowl of Chinese food, that April says, very carefully between bites of her lo mein: “So I noticed I’m no longer your mutual best friend on Snapchat.”
“Howdyountce that?” Hannah says in the middle of her bite of lo mein.
“The little heart icon was gone from next to your name when I went to maintain our streak this morning. I figured I had been usurped.”
“That’s an aggressive way of putting that,” Hannah says brightly, wiping the grease off of her chin. “Like your kingdom has been overthrown.”
April arches a brow. “Hasn’t it?”
“Is this your dramatic, roundabout way of asking me who I’ve been Snapchatting?”
April picks at her noodles, feigning disinterest. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m curious, but if you’re interested in sharing then I suppose I could listen.”
Hannah shakes her head. Her best friend is so stupid. “It’s cute that you still think you have to be nervous about our friendship. I might have a few other friends, but you know I’m hopelessly devoted to you, April. Even if you did move thousands of miles away.”
“The distance between UGA and Barnard is only 800 miles, actually.”
“830, actually,” Hannah corrects while wagging her finger. “Not driveable, which means you may as well live in France.”
April blinks at her. “You know how far our schools are from each other?”
“Of course I do! I have to know how fast I can get to you in case of an emergency. Or, like, a breakup crisis or something.”
April, looking touched by Hannah’s exhibited devotion to her, also scoffs. Never say April Stevens isn’t a world-class multitasker. “I doubt I will be experiencing a breakup crisis any time soon.”
“Yeah, because you haven’t even tried to date. Do you know how many lesbians go to your school? Do you? Because I do! I looked it up. There are hundreds of hot, smart queers walking around the same 2 square city blocks as you, and you won’t even make a Tinder profile to find them!”
April waves a hand dismissively. “I find dating apps to be a debasing, humiliating invention. I don’t want pictures of myself floating around online for nameless, faceless strangers to judge in the two seconds it takes them to swipe left or right. The act of finding a potential romantic partner has been gamefied, commodified, and worse, completely relegated to looks and first impressions, which is hardly the foundation of a healthy, equitable relationship.”
Hannah nods along very politely through April’s rant. She’s known April long enough to know that her rants are best absorbed and then promptly ignored, but never interrupted. Interrupting an April Stevens tirade is just asking for trouble. “Okay,” Hannah says slowly, when it becomes obvious that April is done raving about the patriarchal implications of virtual dating. “But how are you supposed to find hot girls if you spend all your time in class or studying in your dorm room?”
April scoffs again. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“I heard all of it, April. It seems like you’re avoiding putting yourself out there. Putting yourself out there is vulnerable, I get it!” She says quickly, when it looks like April is going to interject. “I’m not saying it’s weird for you to be nervous. I’m just saying high school was a long time ago. You’re older, you’re hotter, and I bet tons of girls would be dying to get in your pants if you just gave them a chance.”
April squints. “Are you insinuating I have a fear of rejection that is precluding me from engaging in the lesbian dating scene because one girl we went to high school with turned out to be a lying, manipulative scoundrel who introduced me to the world of intimate physical pleasure and then went behind my back and had my father arrested?” Hannah just looks at her and smiles, and doesn’t say anything else. A beat passes, then two. “I don’t have trust issues,” April states with adamant ferocity.
“Sure,” Hannah says with a shrug, “you just want to know who my Snapchat best friend is for completely casual, normal reasons.”
“I don’t appreciate my insecurities being weaponized against me.”
“I’m just happy you’re at a point in your life where you can admit to having insecurities.” Hannah beams, feeling a little teary-eyed. “I knew you could be vulnerable.”
“I’m hanging up on you,” April says with grim finality.
Hannah calls her bluff. She waits, not moving to end the call herself, and she notices that hundreds of miles away, April doesn’t end the call, either.
April huffs. “Are you going to tell me who it is or not.”
Hannah bites the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling. “If you must know, ” she teases, “I’ve been Snapping Blair.”
April’s face twists, her eye twitches. “Blair who? ”
“Do you know more than one Blair?”
“I certainly do not, but there is also no earthly way that you could possibly be talking about Blair Wesley right now.”
Hannah shrugs. “We go to school together. We reconnected recently.”
April gapes at her, a thunderous expression taking over her face. “I’ve been usurped as your best friend on Snapchat by Blair Wesley?! ”
Hannah nods. “She sends lots of pictures of her food. You never like to see pictures of my food.”
“I just think if you’re going to spend time taking a photograph it should be of something important, and-or your own face! I don’t need to see something that’s going to be dissolving in your stomach acid in twenty minutes.”
“That’s why I send more snaps to Blair,” Hannah sing-songs.
April, huffing and put-out, proceeds to spend the next ten minutes ranting about friendship and loyalty and the Wesley proclivity to steal things which don’t belong to them (Hannah does not helpfully point out that this is what professionals might call ‘projection’). Ranting always makes April feel better, and Hannah is able to tune it out like so much white noise, so at the end of her lengthy diatribe April looks much perkier.
They don’t mention the Snapchat thing again, but Blair Wesley stubbornly maintains her spot atop Hannah’s Snapchat podium, and April never really seems to forgive her for it.
____________________
Blair Wesley (3:13p.m.)
Bro. I have to write three stupid poems
for my stupid mandatory english class
and i am actually going to fail
Blair Wesley (3:13p.m.)
You’re into all this wordy stuff. If i
write smth can u proofread?
Hannah (3:13p.m.)
OMG!!! It would be my pleasure
Blair Wesley (3:14p.m.)
Thx. their supposed to b short so
maybe this wont suck so hard
Hannah (3:15p.m.)
That’s the spirit!!!
Blair Wesley (3:38p.m.)
JK I hate this I fucking suck at poetry
Hannah (3:39p.m.)
Blair!!!
Hannah (3:39p.m.)
Don’t talk about my friend that way!!!
Hannah (3:39p.m.)
Your poetry does NOT suck!
I remember your band you guys
were really good!!! I had all
your songs on soundcloud
Blair Wesley (3:41p.m.)
oh my god.
Blair Wesley (3:41p.m.)
please tell me u burned whatevr
hardrive u had those on
Hannah (3:45p.m.)
………
Blair Wesley (3:45p.m.)
HANNAH EVELYN BERCHER
Blair Wesley (3:45p.m.)
YOU DO NOT HAVE SKUNK TOWN
RECORDINGS IN THE YEAR OF OUR
LORD 2023 YOU DO NOT
Hannah (3:45p.m.)
No comment.
Hannah (3:45p.m.)
Also that’s not my name
Blair Wesley (3:45p.m.)
I LITERALLY BROKE STERLINGS IPOD
TOUCH TO ERASE THE EVIDENCE
Blair Wesley (3:45p.m.)
I DIDNT EVEN LET ME MOM KEEP
THOSE FILES
Hannah (3:47p.m.)
‘My Dog Pooped In My Dad’s Slippers’
was my personal favorite.
Hannah (3:47p.m.)
Best emotional arc imo
Blair Wesley (3:49p.m.)
im literally on my way to ur apartment
to destroy any music-playing devices
that predate this decade u better HOPE
i find all of them or there will b hell
to pay hannah emelia belmont
Hannah (3:50p.m.)
Also not my name
Blair Wesley (3:50p.m.)
I know ur name im just mad at u
Hannah (3:51p.m)
Prove it.
Hannah (4:02p.m.)
WAIT ARE YOU ACTUALLY HERE??
I HAVENT DONE MY DISHES
Blair Wesley (4:02p.m.)
Open up ro im coming in thru
the window!
.
.
Care Blair (12:20a.m.)
There was once a girl named Hannah B.,
Whose laugh was as wild as the sea.
Her wit wasn’t as sharp,
But I wouldn’t dare carp
At her tragically unfunny memes.
Hannah (12:23a.m.)
You’ve taken to insulting me with limericks!!!
That’s a new low, Blair Wesley
Hannah (12:23a.m.)
Overall a clunky rhyme scheme but
very good use of the verb ‘carp’, esp
as a callback to ‘sea’. That was smart!!
Care Blair (12:23a.m.)
thought ud like that one.
Hannah (12:39a.m.)
Speaking of things we like…
you like my laugh?
Care Blair (12:39a.m.)
im blocking u.
____________________
Another month, another Thursday, another FaceTime date with April. April is mid-complaint about a paper she’s being asked to write for her Political Economy class — something about being required to use Harvard citations instead of the much-preferred and more ubiquitous MLA format — and Hannah is frankly a bit bored. Not that a conversation with April could ever really be boring — the girl has enough personality for three grown adults, and her life seems to be a constant drama of little indignities blown out of proportion. But Hannah burned herself out cramming for her in-class discussion today (she had to read the entirety of Mrs. Dalloway last night), so her attention is wandering a little bit.
When her phone buzzes next to her, she picks it up without thinking, even though she and April have a strict No Phones policy when they’re in the midst of their friendship sessions.
When she reads the text from Blair she snorts, unable to hold the sound back. April, a computer screen and hundreds of miles separating them, notices immediately when Hannah’s attention isn’t entirely on her.
“What’s so funny?”
Hannah shakes her head, and reads: “I spent today in the warm summer grass/ Lamenting my Chemistry class./I wailed and I groaned,/ I beat my fists and I moaned,/ while my PSET fucked me in the ass.”
A moment passes by, the silence unfilled by April’s laugh, which is confusing to Hannah. Blair’s poems, while objectively terrible, are actually pretty funny. She’s still smiling to herself when April says, “What the hell did you just read me?”
Hannah tucks her phone away after she shoots off a Great work!!! April didn’t like it. text. “A limerick. Blair sends them to me.”
“Blair sends you original poetry?”
“I wouldn’t call them ‘poetry,’ they’re just dirty limericks. But yeah, I guess.”
April’s eyebrows have shot up. “She’s sent you multiple dirty limericks? How frequently does she do this?”
Hannah shrugs. “A few times a week? I don’t really count them.” Her phone buzzes next to her. She glances at the screen.
Blair St. Clair (7:23p.m.)
April doesn’t like something silly
and fun? Omg im shocked.
“And do all of her limericks involve jokes about anal sex?”
“Only the best ones.”
A long suffering sigh filters through Hannah’s computer. “I can’t believe you encourage this behavior.”
Hannah laughs. “They’re fun! And she’s really getting a lot better. The first dozen she sent barely counted as limericks.” April opens her mouth to say something, but Hannah cuts her off. “I like to encourage STEM majors who want to dabble in humanities! It’s good for her to flex a different part of her brain.”
There’s an unscruitible expression on April’s face that Hannah doesn’t notice immediately. She sends Blair a quick text back ( I hope your PSET warmed you up first ), and says, nose still in her phone, “She asked me if they were annoying, but I told her that no one’s ever sent me poetry before, so I didn’t mind.”
“Oh.” Hannah smiles at her friend, but April doesn’t smile back. She looks like she’s contemplating something. “Well… that’s actually pretty sweet of her.”
Hannah beams. “I know, isn’t she the best? Also, I’m telling her you said that.”
“You will do no such thing.”
(Hannah does tell her as much, and Blair sends her about thirty-five puke emojis back. But Hannah is starting to suspect that the animosity between Blair and April is mostly manufactured. Besides, they’re probably her two best friends in the whole world. She loves both of them and she knows they both love her, so she’s going to make them like each other if it kills her.)
____________________
Blair, NE 68008 (11:00a.m.)
Did u know a guy named Jim Jennings
tagged u in a relationship status on FB?
Hannah (11:43a.m.)
Jimmy’s in my Greek class! He
asked me out a few weeks ago and
we just made it official last night <3 <3
Blair, NE 68008 (11:55a.m.)
I didn’t know you were dating anyone
Hannah (11:55a.m.)
It wasn’t really serious until last night!
Hannah (11:56a.m.)
I’m sorry you found out via FB!!
That’s so annoying you must be so
mad at me. I was going to tell you at
brunch tmrw!! FB stole my thunder :(
Blair, NE 68008 (12:12p.m.)
Not mad at all! Just surprised
Blair, NE 68008 (12:12p.m.)
Congrats, etc. Now our lonely hearts
Club is more of a one-woman brigade
Hannah (12:15p.m.)
OMG NOOOO does this mean I can’t
come to romcom night anymore???
I will dump him so fast if we can still
do our hugh grant-a-thon :P
Blair, NE 68008 (12:20p.m.)
there is no chance in hell i am watching
a SINGLE romcom on my own. Knowing me
Id accidentally pull up a bunch of colin firth
movies, cuz i cant tell those british guys apart
Blair, NE 68008 (12:20p.m.)
Guess tht means youll have to come still
Hannah (12:21p.m.)
YAYYYY <3<3<3
____________________
Blair Witch Project (2:55p.m.)
Christmas party at your place this year?
Hannah (3:03p.m.)
Yay you got my invite!!!
Blair Witch Project (3:05p.m.)
Of course. Loved the font choice, it
was almost completely illegible
Hannah (3:06p.m.)
Noooo :((((((
Hannah (3:06p.m.)
I thought it was pretty :((((
Blair Witch Project (3:07p.m.)
It was beautiful, babe
Blair Witch Project (3:07p.m.)
Is april going to b there?
Hannah (3:10p.m.)
Are you asking because you’re still
pretending you don’t like her or because
Sterling wants to know?
Blair Witch Project (3:10p.m.)
Cant a gal take out 2 birds w 1 stone?
Hannah (3:11p.m.)
Don’t kill any birds!!!
Hannah (3:11p.m.)
Hunting is barbaric
Blair Witch Project (3:12p.m.)
I like hunting!
Hannah (3:12p.m.)
It’s a very conservative hobby for you
to have. It’s just surprising you like it.
Blair Witch Project (3:13p.m.)
U take that back right now. there is
nothing conservative about loving
the second amendment
Hannah (3:13p.m.)
Do you hear yourself rn?
Blair Witch Project (3:13p.m.)
U wldnt be so against it if u saw me
handle a gun. im a crackshot. It’s very
sexy, if i do say so myself
Hannah (3:14p.m.)
I thought Sterling was the better shot?
Blair Witch Project (3:14p.m.)
im blocking u for real
Hannah (3:40p.m.)
April can’t come FYI. Her mom is
taking her to Aruba for Christmas.
Blair Witch Project (3:40p.m.)
That’s all you needed to say
____________________
Blair arrives at Hannah’s house hours before the party is supposed to start, her arms laden with sodas and bags of chips, with her hair and makeup already done.
Hannah blinks at her. “You’re like, four hours early.”
“I’m not letting you set everything up on your own. After Franklin’s disastrous party last year, the bar is practically subterranean, but we’re still gonna make this a rager for the ages.”
Hannah beams at her, delighted and warmed by how kind her best friend is.
That delight and warmth lasts for about twenty minutes, until Blair, the savage that she is, gets her hands on Hannah’s phone. She unlocks it immediately, because she’s known Hannah’s password for over a year, and immediately starts messing with Hannah’s Christmas playlist. Her loud commentary goes mostly unheeded while Hannah finishes straightening her hair, until she says, “You have a deranged amount of Michael Bublé on this playlist and I’m deleting all of it.”
“Blair! Not the Bublé! It’s a Christmas classic!”
“If I have to listen to that noodle-headed man sing one more holiday carol, I’m going to burn this place to the ground. This is non-negotiable for me, Buttercup.”
Hannah pouts but acquiesces with little push-back. She’d rather have Blair at her Christmas party than Michael Bublé, no matter how sensuous his voice may sound when he croons Santa Baby.
While Blair spends a few more minutes grumbling about Hannah’s music taste, Hannah finishes putting her hair into a long braid. The silence between them isn’t exactly awkward, except Hannah feels like it is. She’s had something weighing on her for weeks, and she hasn’t brought it up because she didn’t have a good chance to, but she can’t very well go into this party thinking there’s any lingering tension between her and Blair.
“Hey, Blair?” She starts. Blair hums, still messing around in Hannah’s phone. “I’m sorry I said hunting is a conservative hobby.”
“Huh?” Blair looks up from Hannah’s phone and freezes. Her eyes seem caught on a spot below Hannah’s chin, and she reaches up, finds her necklace is twisted, and fixes it blindly. Blair blinks and shakes her head, eyes snapping up to meet Hannah’s.
“When we were texting, I said hunting was a conservative hobby, and it made you mad. I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight about something so stupid.”
“We aren’t fighting about that,” Blair says, shaking her head slowly. “We haven’t fought about anything, ever.”
“Oh.” Hannah looks down at her feet, suddenly feeling very, very silly.
Blair is in front of her one moment later. She takes Hannah’s hands in hers, tugs until she looks up again. Her face is carved with concern. “Why did you think we were fighting?”
Hannah shrugs. It feels so dumb, now. She was reading depth into a situation that didn’t require any. She suddenly remembers being three years old, terrified and clutching her mom’s hand, her inflatable water wings around her biceps and thighs as she took a breath, closed her eyes, and leapt into the pool, only to emerge sputtering a moment later with the water barely at waist-level.
“You haven’t sent me a limerick in like a week and a half,” Hannah mumbles, barely wanting to look at Blair’s face. It’s true, even if it seems like something so miniscule now. For over a year, Blair has sent her at least 1 limerick a week. Even that week she had the flu and was in and out of consciousness, she still managed to send two (barely coherent, but still) from her sickbed. But this week… nothing. And Hannah knows it’s silly. She knows it’s stupid. She’s embarrassed she even brought it up. She’s made something from nothing, and now she looks like a clingy idiot.
Blair’s mouth moves without forming words for a few seconds. “I didn’t… I’m sorry. With traveling and everything it just… slipped my mind. I mean I was working on one, I guess. But it never seemed…” She squints, biting her lip. “This is easier to do when I don’t have to see your face.”
“It’s okay,” Hannah says. She brings a hand up to Blair’s face, cups her cheek gently. “You’re very sweet, and you try really hard to do things well. I find that very endearing.”
Blair flushes. “Don’t do that shit,” she mumbles, looking down. “You make me so sappy.”
“I like when you’re sappy,” Hannah says, pinching her cheek. “You’re so funny when you blush.”
Blair, still blushing, knocks her hands away. “Knock it off,” she says gruffly. “Don’t we have some mistletoe to hang?”
.
.
Prime Minister Tony Blair (10:58p.m.)
This Christmas we won’t get much snow,
No lights, nor a holiday show.
But maybe under the tree,
There will be a pretty girl for me,
And I’ll wait for her under the mistletoe.
Hannah laughs, a delighted sound that escapes her quickly. She looks up from her phone, scanning the room for Blair. Sterling seems to be drowning her sorrows in a bottle of Bud Light (aka pointedly not bringing up to anyone that April isn’t here, and she’s clearly very sad about that turn of events and trying to get drunk to forget that fact), but there’s no sign of the other Wesley.
Hannah finds her after only a minute of searching. She’s leaning against the wall next to the fireplace in Hannah’s living room. Her face is illuminated by the gas-powered flames, and Hannah can see the light flush of her cheeks. Blair always gets flushed when she drinks. She’s worrying her phone in her hands, locking and unlocking the screen compulsively.
This makes Hannah feel warm, for some strange, unknowable reason.
She notes where Blair is standing — directly underneath one of the many festive sprigs of mistletoe Hannah had hung around her house this morning, humming under her breath and thinking of all of the stories she’ll be able to tell April after the New Year — which of their former classmates were caught necking in which rooms of Hannah’s house. She delights in finding Blair here now.
She beams when Blair finally notices her. Blair freezes, her shoulders pulled back, and Hannah waves her own locked phone. “Waiting under the mistletoe, just like you said,” she says with a laugh. “Who knew you were a secret romantic, Blair Wesley?”
Blair seems to relax at that. Her cheeks, already dusted a pretty pink, stretch with her wide smile. “I am large, I contain multitudes.”
Hannah laughs and sidles up next to her. She warms her legs by the fire. She loves this time of year. She loves fires inside, the warmth of winter sweaters and thick leggings, the way people huddle around these light sources as the days grow darker and colder.
“Your limericks are really improving,” Hannah says with a smile. “You should experiment with the long-form poem. I’m sure someone would be delighted to get one of your love poems one day.”
Blair’s smile flickers, and for a moment seems to dim. “Oh?” she says carefully. “Someone… did you have anyone in mind?”
Hannah pauses and considers the question. “I can’t think of anyone you’ve mentioned… oh! What about that girl Riley, in your Orgo lab? Didn’t you say she was cute? You know, I think she keeps asking to borrow pens because she wants an excuse to talk to you.”
Blair has turned away from her at some point during this conversation. The happy blush on her cheeks, so prominent a moment before, has all but faded now. She looks down at her feet, shuffling her socks against the cool marble fireplace.
That’s one thing Hannah doesn’t like about Christmas. It always seems to heighten emotions. One minute you are smiling, laughing, jovial and full of the holiday spirit, and the next the darkness presses in and you’re morose.
Hanah doesn’t like seeing Blair morose. “Hey,” she says, reaching out to touch her arm. Blair doesn’t look at her, which sets off Hannah’s alarm bells. What they’re signaling, she has no idea, but she knows that they are ringing loud and obnoxious. “Hey, Blair, are you okay?”
“I just wish I hadn’t missed my chance.”
“Missed your chance at what?”
Blair looks at her for a moment, like she can’t tell if Hannah is joking or not. Hannah absolutely is not joking. She’s always had trouble reading people — subtext, hidden meanings, subtle variances in language or speech. It’s all illegible to her. She’s a very open book. Whatever Hannah B. thinks, Hannah B. says. It’s gotten her into a fair amount of trouble in her life, but she knows there are also people who appreciate the fact that she’ll always give it to you straight.
What she thinks, she says. There isn’t a lot hiding underneath her surfaces.
Blair is an entirely different story. Blair has a quiet sort of stoicism about her. Blair is able to have full conversations with her twin sister without either of them opening their mouths, just by twitching her eyebrow or pursing her lips. Blair looks at Hannah sometimes like there are a million and twelve things she’s thinking about saying, but sometimes she won’t say even one of them.
Blair is difficult to read on the best days, and Hannah finds herself lost in that deep, endless well of her eyes. She wants to ask Blair to explain what she means. She opens her mouth to do exactly that.
But she never gets the chance. All of a sudden Blair is in front of her, closer than she’s ever been, and her eyes are closed and her lips — her lips! — are on Hannah’s lips. She’s kissing her! Hannah has no ability to react to the situation. She’s frozen in complete shock. Blair, warm against her, her breath warm, her mouth — her mouth! — warm, too. Hannah thinks, for an absurd moment, that Blair might have a fever. Why else would her body seem to run so hot.
They stand there for a few moments, neither of them moving. Blair’s lips are pressed to hers, and it’s not an entirely pleasant feeling. Her lips are dry, chapped. She doesn’t move them, makes no motion to make this a real kiss. And Hannah stands, shocked and currently being kissed, her eyes stuck open because her brain isn’t working enough to tell them to close.
She breathes in sharply through her nose, and Blair rips away from her as if burned.
“Blair,” Hannah says, breathless for some reason, “what—?”
“Merry Christmas, Hannah,” Blair says, before she — and there’s no nice way of putting this — sprints away.
Hannah is left, dumbfounded and alone, under the mistletoe.
.
.
Prime Minister Tony Blair (1:15a.m.)
Hannah m so sry bt tn
Prime Minister Tony Blair (1:15a.m.)
Strling says consent is evrything n i ksssed u
withot askng n m so so so sorry
Prime Minister Tony Blair (1:15a.m.)
im so drunk ur probly asleep i m sory i
dont want to be sch a mess ur my bestfried
in th whole worl i dont wanna ruin anything
by being lame n lonely n horny imm so sorry
Prime Minister Tony Blair (1:17a.m.)
Ples forget it ever happened
.
.
Hannah (8:30a.m.)
I hope you got some sleep. Please
don’t be sorry. It wasn’t weird at all.
I kissed Ezekiel under the mistletoe
last night too, and that was infinitely
weirder. You’re my best friend, nothing
is going to change that. I promise.
Hannah (8:30a.m.)
Drink lots of water today please <3
Prime Minister Tony Blair (10:55a.m.)
God I am so humiliated. Please delete
all my drunk texts and let’s never
speak of this again
Hannah (10:57a.m.)
Already forgotten :)
.
.
“What does it mean if someone kisses you but they do it because you got caught under the mistletoe together so it wasn’t like a serious serious kiss, but then also they ran away after? And then what if that person who kissed you calls it a mistake and asks you never to talk about it again? What does that mean, exactly?”
April blinks. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and squints at her phone screen. Hannah asked her right away without so much as a hello greeting, and April, having clearly just woken up, doesn’t seem ready to process all of the implications behind the question.
Luckily, Hannah’s best friend is an expert at crisis-management, and she takes it all in stride. “What on earth happened at that party last night?”
“Blair kissed me,” Hannah says in a rush. She closes her eyes, bracing for April’s indignant squawk, bracing to be berated and pressed for more details immediately.
But all April says is, “Oh.” Hannah tentatively opens one eye. April looks very calm through the phone screen. Why does she look so calm? Why isn’t she shocked, floored, astounded, and every other synonym like Hannah had been, immediately after it happened. “Was it a good kiss?” April asks, absurdly.
“Um… not particularly, I guess.”
“Well that’s a shame.”
Hannah feels an illogical need to defend Blair’s kissing prowess. “She was nervous,” she explains defensively. “And I don’t think she really planned to do it.”
“She kissed you under the mistletoe? Very festive of her.”
“April, that’s not really the point.”
“Well, what is the point? Did you like the kiss or not?”
“I… don’t know. It happened pretty fast, I didn’t really get the chance to react.”
“Okay,” April says easily. “Do you want to kiss her again?”
“I have a boyfriend,” Hannah says, which is not an answer.
“That’s not an answer.”
Hannah knows that, thank you very much. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a better answer. She’s never thought about kissing Blair. In fact, the words Kissing and Blair have never existed simultaneously in her mind.
She likes Blair. She knows that much. She loves Blair, even. Blair is her best friend (don’t tell April that). Blair is certainly beautiful, and from everything Hannah’s heard from the girl’s field hockey team (Blair is also a walking cliche), Blair is certainly talented, both at kissing and at other girl-on-girl activities. But knowing all of those things at once has never coincided with a desire to kiss her. Not historically at least.
Unfortunately, now that the notion has entered her mind, Hannah finds she’s having a lot of trouble thinking about anything else. She feels, annoyingly, like they didn’t have a fair go of it. Like it would be useless to make a decision about whether or not she wants to kiss Blair when that one painfully awkward kiss is the only thing she has to go off.
But also, Hannah has a boyfriend. A perfectly nice, perfectly normal, perfectly not annoying boyfriend. Who, admittedly, isn’t that great of a kisser, but being a good kisser is overrated. And sure, Blair has been her Snapchat best friend for two years, and sure, she’s Hannah’s #1 contact on her favorites list, and sure, she’s the only person who’s ever sent Hannah (terrible, horrible, funny, lovely) poems. But that doesn’t mean Hannah wants to kiss her.
“I don’t know if I do or not,” Hannah finally says. April has been very patient, has let her slowly think through as many potentials as she can possibly think through. She’s waited, without pressure, for Hannah to decide what she wants.
Hannah has no idea what she wants.
“That’s okay,” April says kindly. “You don’t have to know right away. Just think about it. Don’t rule anything out until you know for sure. Alright?”
And Hannah nods, and says, “Alright.”
And she thinks about it. And she thinks about it. And she thinks about it.
____________________
Hannah (1:08p.m.)
Hi!! Are you available for a midterm cram-
sesh? I need someone else to quiz me!
Prime Minister Tony Blair (1:11p.m.)
Do i have to make my own flashcards
or are you providing?
Hannah (1:11p.m.)
I’m providing!! Duh
Prime Minister Tony Blair (1:15p.m.)
B there in 15
Hannah (1:15p.m.)
:)))))))
____________________
True to her word, they don’t talk about it. Blair never brings up the kiss, and Hannah, confused enough about her own feelings without trying to parse through Blair’s, doesn’t try to force her to talk about it. She thinks it would be pretty hypocritical of her to demand answers about a situation she herself is still so confused about.
And in the months following the party, Blair doesn’t give any indication that she’s thought about the kiss at all. She never seems like she wants to kiss Hannah again, although they certainly find themselves in plenty of kissable situations. During RomCom Night, when Hannah swoons over Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles’ paint-splattered kiss, and Blair dips her finger into the butter coating the bottom of their popcorn bowl and tackles Hannah onto the couch, painting her face with salty grease while Hannah kicks and laughs. During finals week, when they’re finally free from exams and they stumble out of one of the frats together, drunk with their arms interlocked, swaying as they stroll lazily back to Blair’s apartment. On mornings when they wake up together, curled in the same bed (because they’ve always shared a bed, always, every time they’ve had to sleep in the same room, and Hannah never thought about it or if it was weird or why it feels so normal to sleep next to Blair, when she can’t bring herself to sleep next to Jimmy), when Hannah wakes up second to Blair’s eyes already on her, watching her in her restful state.
Plenty of kissable situations. Plenty of moments for Blair to seize the opportunity. (Plenty of moments for Hannah to seize the opportunity, too, although she never allows herself to think so audaciously.)
They don’t kiss.
They don’t talk about it.
____________________
Blair Waldorf (8:51a.m.)
I once knew a man named Jim
Who had nothing going for him.
And when he broke my friend’s heart
I swore I’d tear him apart,
Slowly dismembering, limb from limb.
Hannah (9:10a.m.)
I’m guessing you heard about the breakup?
Blair Waldorf (9:10a.m.)
He’s a dick, Han. Seriously, fuck him.
He never deserved you.
Blair Waldorf (9:10a.m.)
btw i was serious abt dismemberment
Blair Waldorf (9:10a.m.)
Just say the word and his ass is grass
Hannah (9:12a.m.)
You’re incredibly sweet.
Blair Waldorf (9:12a.m.)
I will excuse your disparagement
of my character bcuz ur heartbroken
Hannah (9:14a.m.)
I’m not heartbroken. Honest.
Hannah (9:14a.m.)
I broke up with him because the
relationship wasn’t fulfilling.
Blair Waldorf (9:15a.m.)
*eyes emoji*
Hannah (9:15a.m.)
Emotionally fulfilling, not sexually
Hannah (9:15a.m.)
Although I guess both are true
Blair Waldorf (9:17a.m.)
I will be there in half an hour with wine
and chocolate and movies
Hannah (9:20a.m.)
We are not drinking at 10 in the morning!
Blair Waldorf (9:45a.m.)
Too late! Already bringing a red
Hannah (9:45a.m.)
Thank you <3
.
.
Here’s the thing: Hannah isn’t gay. And she figured that was probably a prerequisite for wanting to kiss and/or have sex with and/or date another girl. You probably have to be gay in order to want to do those things.
And Hannah isn’t gay. There’s nothing wrong with being gay; she knows, obviously, that sexualities are fluid and ever-changing. She knows all about what it means to be gay, becuase her three best friends in the entire world are all queer. And Hannah loves them all dearly, and there’s nothing strange or weird or alien about their relationships. They’re as normal as anything. Hannah spends more time around gay people these days than straight people, and it’s partly because of her exposure to the queer community that she knows, without a doubt and unequivocally, that she is not gay.
So she thought, for a long time, that that meant she couldn’t like Blair. She couldn’t like Blair, because she isn’t gay, and in order to like Blair, to want to date and/or kiss and/or have sex with Blair, that she had to be gay. Because that seemed like a pretty simple requirement, one she consistently failed to fulfill. She didn’t want to do those things, she couldn’t possibly want to do those things (fantasies and explicit dreams and daydreaming about chapped lips in front of a warm fire notwithstanding), because she isn’t gay.
But the longer she thinks about it, the more she comes to believe that that is a really stupid conclusion to come to. She likes Blair and also Blair is a girl. She doesn’t like Blair because she’s a girl, which means it’d be a pretty stupid reason to not like her because she’s a girl, either.
So, two things can be true: 1) Hannah B. is not gay. 2) Hannah B. is stupidly, madly in love with Blair Wesley, and thinks about kissing her and/or dating her and/or having sex with her like, all the time.
Two things can be true.
Hannah is large, and she contains multitudes.
____________________
Blair Underwood (8:02p.m.)
Hey is this invite to April’s party legit?
Blair Underwood (8:02p.m.)
Sterling has been having conniptions
since zeke texted nd i wanna know if
we’re being punked
Hannah (8:13p.m.)
It’s legit!!!
Hannah (8:13p.m.)
I think April’s trying to make
moves. Make sure Sterling looks hot!!!
Blair Underwood (8:16p.m.)
*Thumbs up*
Blair Underwood (8:16p.m.)
Understood.
Blair Underwood (8:17p.m.)
No notes about how I should look?
Hannah (8:17p.m.)
Baby, you always look hot <3
In April’s bedroom, Hannah helps her try on dress after dress before finally settling on one that is a deep green, soft velvet to touch. It hugs her hips beautifully, and it makes her look older, sophisticated and lovely. She stands with her shoulders back and looks confidently at herself in the mirror.
“Yes,” she says quietly, rubbing her palms on the fabric to wipe away the nervous sweat she’s pretending isn’t there. “Yes, I think this is the one.”
Hannah beams at her. “I think she’s gonna die when she sees you.”
“Who?” April says, with a terrible sort of insincerity. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. I’m wearing this for me.”
“Of course you are,” Hannah says with a laugh. “What shoes are you going to wear?”
Later, when the party has already started, when Hannah is settling into her role as co-hostess by making sure all the guests who arrive know where to put their coats, where to get their snacks, where to get their drinks, she glances down at her phone and realizes she’s got an unopened text.
Blair Underwood (8:32p.m.)
Thanks. You do too :)
.
.
The little shriek she lets out when she pulls the door open and sees the Wesley twins on the other side, one looking a little sheepish, the other mid-eyeroll, is more than a little embarrassing. But she’s had a few drinks and she couldn’t care less about decorum.
“You came!” Hannah shouts, immediately throwing her arms around both of their shoulders.
Blair catches her easily, used to Hannah’s physical affection after so many years being her friend. Sterling is tense under Hannah’s arm, but Hannah attributes that to April-related nerves and isn’t offended by it.
“Hi, Hannah,” Blair says first, rubbing light circles onto Hannah’s back that make her hum contentedly. “You’re on welcome duties?”
Hannah pulls away, beaming and flushed. She sways a little where she stands, which is probably why Blair keeps a hand on her arm even as Sterling disentangles herself. “Only for you two,” she says with exuberant delight. “The Wesleys are here. It’s finally a party!”
She links her arm with Blair’s, leading the Wesleys through April’s house and chattering away. She shows them where to leave their coats, offers to take a picture of them in front of April’s tree (which makes Sterling flush prettily and which makes Blair bark out a laugh, which in turn makes Hannah flush a little bit), before finally pulling them down into the basement. She has to talk louder as they get closer to the pumping music, but this also means that Blair needs to lean closer to her to hear her speak, which Hannah certainly does not mind.
She leads Blair through the crowds to the drinks table, where she opens her free arm with a flourish. “Pick your poison, m’lady,” she says, and Blair pretends to gag.
“You did not just ‘m’lady’ me.”
Hannah pretends to tip an invisible hat. Blair groans and pushes at her shoulder, but she doesn’t extricate herself. Very interesting.
Hannah pours them both a generous amount of punch from the communal bowl, and she hands Blair a red solo cup as she lifts her own in cheers. “To Christmas!” she shouts. Blair laughs, but knocks their glasses together. They both drink, the artificial coloring staining their lips. It’s a pretty look on Blair, who prefers darker shades whenever she does wear lipstick. Hannah decided to forgo it for this event, choosing instead a nice, pretty pink gloss, just to make her lips shine a bit in the light. She notices that Blair seems a bit distracted by the way the lips move and glisten, and she wants to clap herself on the back to celebrate a well-made decision.
Blair finishes her drink in record time. Hannah raises a brow but otherwise doesn’t remark. She simply refills Blair’s cup and hands it back to her.
“Thanks!” Blair shouts over the music. “Did you see where Sterling went?”
Hannah did not see where Sterling went. Hannah, frankly, could give a rat’s ass where Sterling went. Blair’s button down shirt is rolled up, cuffed above her elbows. The dark ink of the floral tattoo on her forearm catches the light, and Hannah’s eyes are drawn to it. Blair’s gaze is dark, her eyes hooded. The air between them seems to crackle, and Hannah takes a step forward, tucking herself into Blair’s body and using the noise and the press of the crowd around them as an excuse. She glances over Blair’s shoulder, and it only takes her about a second to see where Sterling disappeared off to.
She laughs. Standing on her toes to speak directly into Blair’s ear, she says, “April, 6 o’clock.”
Blair cranes her neck and sure enough, there they are: Sterling and April, standing about three feet apart and staring at each other with twin dumbstruck expressions frozen to their faces.
“God, they are so lame,” Blair says with a chuckle. “Shoot me if I ever act like that.”
Hannah shakes her head. “You’d never act like that,” she says to Blair’s profile. “Sometimes I’m not sure if you know how to ask for what you want.”
Blair turns back to her, half her attention on her sister, the other half frowning at Hannah. “Huh? What do you mean by that?”
“Just that you’re hard to read,” Hannah obfuscates.
Do you like me, Blair Wesley? Hannah thinks but does not say. Do you think about kissing me as much as I think about kissing you?
She does not mention kissing Blair. She tries, very hard, not to think about it. But not thinking about it gets harder and harder as the night goes on. As the alcohol flows, as Blair sticks by her side, ignoring every other person who crosses their field of vision. She’s completely turned to Hannah. Every expression is for her, every ounce of her attention is on Hannah, and Hannah is thrilled, elated, energized by it. She’s distracted for real only once, when they spot April leading Sterling up the stairs. Blair breaks from Hannah long enough to raise her clasped hands together, silently cheering the embarrassed blush on Sterling’s cheeks, and even those few seconds are too much. Hannah grabs Blair by the chin and pulls her attention back to her.
Blair’s eyes burn into hers. Her hands fall slowly over Hannah’s shoulders, her fingers tangled loosely together behind Hannah’s neck, and Hannah feels alternately hot and cold all over. She’s sweating, her palms wet, but when Blair’s fingers brush her braid she shivers all the same.
Blair leans toward her and Hannah’s heart and breath catch at the same time. She lets her eyes flutter closed, determined not to make the same mistake twice, and she lets her lips part for one final breath before —
“I need some air!” Blair says over the loud music, and Hannah opens her eyes, feeling a bit dazed. Blair gestures with her head toward the back patio, which is, for maybe the first time tonight, devoid of smokers.
Hannah nods, still in a daze, and trails after Blair.
Breaking out into the cool night is a shock and a relief all at once. The cold air hits her and she shivers, the sweat on her skin and the flush on her neck suddenly prickling at the attention. Blair fumbles for a moment in the pocket of her jeans (black, ripped at the knee, simple but infuriatingly attractive, like everything else about Blair). She makes a victorious noise as she wrestles a small, slightly-crushed joint and lighter from the denim.
She holds it out to Hannah, a silent offer. Hannah takes it gratefully.
They pass the joint between them — puff-puff-pass, puff-puff-pass — when all of a sudden the door behind them opens.
Ezekiel pokes his head out. “Y’all smoking out here?” he asks, eyeing the weed jealously.
Hannah, who has the joint currently between her fingers, holds it out to him.
He delights and takes it from her, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke for a moment, then two, then three. “Fuck,” he says on the exhale, “I really needed that.” He passes it along to Blair next. “Thanks, doll.”
Blair nods. When she goes to take a hit, the joint has burned out. Hannah, lighter in her fingers, steps into her space to spark it up again. It takes a moment, fingers fumbling in the cold, and she has to cup her hand around Blair’s mouth, bend her head low towards hers, in order to protect the flame from the breeze. It feels like it takes hours. It feels like it takes seconds. Blair’s eyes burn into hers, and Hannah doesn’t think she can blink, doesn’t think she can breathe.
It’s Ezekiel who finally breaks the tension, “You know, y’all would make a cute couple. I’ve always said so.”
Hannah beams and says, “Thank you” at the same time Blair says, “Yeah, as if.”
They stop, and as if in slow-motion they turn to look at each other.
“What?” Blair says slowly.
“As if?” Hannah says at the same time. She sounds much more affronted than Blair does, which she notes and then ignores in favor of being annoyed.
Ezekiel pulls a face. “I’ve made this awkward, haven’t I?”
“No, Ezekiel,” Hannah says quickly. “You’re perfect and I love you, and you’ve never done anything wrong.”
“I love you too, babe,” he says, but Hannah isn’t looking at him anymore.
“What do you mean, ‘As if’? ” Hannah demands of Blair again.
Blair is looking at her as if she’s got two heads. “I just… I mean, c’mon, Hannah. We could never date.”
Hannah feels her forehead scrunch. “And why the hell not?”
“Maybe I should just go…” Ezekiel says loudly, already removing himself from the tense situation his words had unwittingly caused. Neither girl notices him leaving. Neither girl acknowledges his departure.
“There’d be no future for us,” Blair says with a shrug.
Hannah feels as if she’s been slapped. “Why would you say that? That’s kind of a hurtful thing to say, Blair.”
“Hannah…” That same, incredulous stare again— “your last name is Blair.”
Hannah huffs. “I know what my last name is. I’m surprised you know what it is.”
Blair rolls her eyes. “Of course I know your name. It’s my stupid fault everyone calls you ‘Hannah B.’, because I threw a fit in second grade when Mrs. Davidson was trying to differentiate between you and Hannah Abbot and she decided to call you ‘Hannah Blair’. I threw my box of crayons all the way across the room, almost took out Jamie Duncan’s left eye with the Scarlet one. All because I was a stupid, selfish kid who didn’t want to share my name with you. Of course I know what your name is.”
Hannah blinks. She’d completely forgotten that. She’s been ‘Hannah B.’ her entire life. Hannah is a pretty common name, and she vaguely remembers a time in her youth when a teacher decreed that henceforth she would be known as ‘Hannah B.’, to distinguish between her and Hannahs A and F (Abbott and Frederick). She has no recollection at all of Blair Wesley being involved in that decision-making process.
Blair is still talking, completely unaware of the fuse she’s just blown in Hannah’s brain. “We could never date,” she’s saying dismissively. “I decided in sophomore year after that awful fling with Riley that I’m not gonna date someone I’m not serious about, and we couldn’t be serious because we couldn’t get married. I can’t be ‘Blair Blair’. I’m not a Dr. Seuss character.”
“Well, I’d obviously take your last name, Blair. I thought we decided this ages ago.”
“What?!” Blair’s mouth falls open. She looks shocked, but not distressed, which is probably a good sign. “We decided no such thing. We have never talked about this. Believe me, I would remember if we talked about this.”
“I told you last March, if I ever got married I’d take my husband’s name.”
Blair just blinks at her. “I’m not a dude?? How does this apply to me? If we got married I wouldn’t be your husband, obviously.”
“I meant ‘husband’ in the gender-neutral sense. I assumed you knew that.”
“Hannah! The gender-neutral version of ‘husband’ is ‘spouse’ . You’re telling me you’ve been queer this whole time?”
It’s Hannah’s turn to look flabber-gasted. “You knew I was queer. I watch RuPaul’s Drag Race. ”
“So does my dad! He’s not gay!”
“I thought your dad was bisexual?”
“Hannah! Stop talking about my dad’s sexuality! Are you telling me you are a) queer and b) actually into me?”
Hannah stares at her for a moment. Did Blair really not know? How is it possible that they’ve been such close friends for three years, and Blair didn’t know ? Everyone knows that Hannah is into her. April figured it out like, a month into their friendship! “ Obviously .”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Blair closes her eyes, tips her head back to the stars. She takes a deep breath of cold air. “You’re so dumb, dude.”
“That’s rude.”
“And I’m so into you.”
“Oh.” Hannah blinks. “I’m, uh… I’m into you, too.”
“Yeah,” Blair says with a smile. “I think I’m starting to realize that.”
When Blair kisses her, it’s nothing like the first time. The heat is still there, but that tense surprise, that buttoned-up sense of I might be making a mistake is completely absent. In its place is a smile, an exuberant chuckle swallowed down, and Blair’s hands cupping her face so gently she might as well be handling a baby bird.
Hope is the thing with feathers, Hannah’s mind supplies unhelpfully. She brushes the stolen words aside — though the irony that it is Emily ‘Famous Sapphic’ Dickinson’s poem that is the first thing that comes to mind when she kisses the girl she’s wanted to kiss for eons is not lost on her — and lets the jubilation of the moment envelop her. She lets Blair Wesley and her pretty, talented mouth (which tastes a shocking amount like fruit punch and vodka) make her feel all manner of pretty, lovely things.
She sends a mental high-five to April, who is surely getting her back blown out in some upstairs bathroom or closet, and thinks that this is probably going to be the best Christmas break in the history of Christmas breaks.
____________________