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Lydia had only spent three days at Lizzie and Darcy’s place in San Francisco, and she’d already been kicked out. Apparently, making loud grunts and moans whenever they found the time to emerge from their bedroom was considered improper. Well, that’s how Darcy put it. Lizzie just told her to shut up, her face unusually red, and after several warnings, she’d finally decided to throw her out. Maybe not literally, but. I mean, it was Lizzie and Darcy. They’d been very nice about the whole thing, finding her a new place to stay, making sure she packed properly. Then again, it was probably just to get her out of there as quickly as possible. It would have taken considerably longer had she taken care of everything herself.
So now she was standing outside Gigi Darcy’s place, which although it wasn’t far from Lizzie and Darcy’s — no, Darcy’s apartment, Lizzie wasn’t living there, or so she said again and again, she just happened to spend every night at the place — but far enough that she couldn’t come by to mooch off their meals. Not that she would mind spending every night eating out with Gigi and her friends. Apparently she knew all the best restaurants.
In general, however, she was slightly wary of staying with Gigi. They were friendly enough, once they’d gotten past the awkward, uncomfortable, truthfully excruciating post-Dickham phase, constantly walking on eggshells around each other on the few instances they had to, unsure of how to interact, the stench of him still hanging over them both, too painful a reminder for both of them; until one day, during Bing and Jane’s engagement party, they’d both found themselves at the far end of Netherfield’s park — because the Lees have a fucking park — tipsy and giggling, elaborately plotting all the ways in which Wickham could, uh, accidentally die. Lydia’s favorite was choking on peaches, preferable poisoned with something painful. Gigi’s favorites all included drowning.
Despite this new-found friendliness, they still weren’t completely comfortable around each other. Considering they were practically bound to be sisters, hopefully that would change during her visit. So Lydia adjusted the strap of her handbag, took a deep breath, and pressed the intercom button, waiting for the tell-tale crackling followed by Gigi’s voice.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Lydia come with a truckload of fun. You gonna let me in?” she said, her voice conveying the grin she’d put on.
“Of course! Come right up - floor 17, the elevator’s right round the corner,” Gigi answered, and the buzz sounded.
A few minutes later she was walking into the apartment, surprisingly cramped for such a high-end place. Well, cramped had to be considered relative. The living room was fairly spacious, but it worked as a sort of combined kitchen, den and dining room area, leading out to a balcony overlooking the bay. Gigi was standing eagerly next to her, eyes bright and expectant.
“Cool place you’ve got, G,” she said, flashing her a smile. “Do you have a guest room, or am I, like, camping out on the couch?”
Gigi pursed her lips, eyebrows crinkling slightly. “Well, I was thinking we would share, actually. I have a very cozy bed.”
“Oh,” Lydia said, slightly taken aback a moment, before shrugging. “Awesome. Like a sleep-over! Only in a much nicer place than I’m used to. This way?” she asked, pointing towards a small hallway leading from the kitchen-area.
“I was kidding,” Gigi said, her lips now stretching into a smile. “But yes, the guest room is also down that way. I’m right across the hall.”
“Oh,” Lydia answered, slightly surprised at the mild pang of disappointment she’d felt, before looking up and catching Gigi’s eyes, her own mischievous. “Well, maybe I’ll sneak over anyway. You better watch out.”
And with a wink she whirled around, her bright red hair swirling round her, and headed off towards her new room.
She was lying spread out on her bed — queen’s size, pink covers, amazingly soft — the contents of her suitcase already spread across the room, only half-unpacked, scrolling through her facebook feed, when there was a knock at her door, and Gigi poked her head in, the cut of her hair just visible, the rest of her concealed by the lightly shaded wood.
“Lydia? Are you hungry at all?” she asked, painted fingers curled around the door frame, tapping rhythmically. It took a moment for Lydia to respond, but when she did she looked up with bright eyes.
“Oh god, yes,” Lydia said, jumping off the bed and closing her laptop. “Our mom has made us too used to food over the years — I constantly find myself starving.”
She walked over to grab a light jacket from where it was slung over a small, bright green stool, ostensibly for sitting on, although Lydia found it better suited for a temporary closet. “Where are we going?”
“I was actually thinking we’d eat in tonight? Maybe get to know each other a bit better? We, uh, haven’t really gotten to know each other all that well yet, and I’d like to change that. Unless you want to go out! Of course, everything’s good with me really, your choice,” Gigi said, in her customary long-winded babble, stepping into the room as she did so. “There’s this great Indian place just down the street with the best naan you’ve ever tasted, I swear to god, oh, or if you’d prefer sea food, there’s this awesome place down on the Wharf, and they have, like, the best shrimps in town. The Indian place does take-out though! So, uh, yeah,” she trailed off with a gesture as if to say ‘your call’.
Lydia laughed. “Indian sounds perfect. Actually, I have something I want to show you. It’s kind of hilarious? So staying in would work.”
“Great! We could actually go get it ourselves, it’s so close, if you want to come along? I’m not sure what you like,” said Gigi, backing out of the room again to get her own jacket. Although it wasn’t cold outside, it wasn’t warm either, and there was a bit of a draft.
“I’ll be right out,” Lydia confirmed.
When they stumbled back into the apartment, their arms were laden with bags of food. Collectively, they’d probably gotten enough to feed a small soccer team, but Lydia was confident they’d be able to finish it all. Gigi had looked at her skeptically, but was so eager for Lydia to try so many different dishes, that she couldn’t help but shell out money for the extravagant amount of food. “After all, I guess we could always just keep left-overs,” she’d said with a shrug as she’d swiped her card through the terminal. At first Lydia had protested when she realized Gigi was planning on paying for what was primarily her own food, but had quickly given up upon Gigi’s insistence, who had ordered Lydia to think of it as a welcoming gift.
So they set up camp in the living room, unpacking the food they’d gotten on the small coffee table before the couch; a selection of various dishes including — but not limited to — palak paneer, chicken tikka, lamb dhansak, vindaloo, and, of course, the best naan bread Lydia would apparently ever have the opportunity to taste.
“No way we’re gonna eat all of this,” Gigi said, looking down at all the food spread over the table, her eyes wide.
Lydia just grinned; “Wanna get some drinks?”
“Well, I actually though we could make some lassi to have with the food, you know lassi, right?” Gigi asked, walking over to the kitchen to rummage through her fridge for ingredients. Lydia nodded eagerly.
“I love the mango kind. Do you also have vodka and amaretto?”
“Should do,” Gigi called over her shoulder as she reached down for a carton of yoghurt. “Go check the liquor cabinet. It’s behind the couch, on the side facing the windows.”
“Damn, homemade and everything,” Lydia said, eyeing the mangoes Gigi was picking out of a transparent bag when she came back with the liquor, and setting them out on a cutting board.
“Only way worth having them, lets be real,” Gigi said, as she gingerly held a knife, trying to get a firm grip on the mango and positioning it carefully.
“I didn’t know you could cook?”
“I can’t. Not that this really counts as cooking.”
All the same, when they finally dropped down on the couch with their still steaming food, they were somehow covered in mango juice and giggling so hard they could have already been drunk.
“So you wanted to show me something?” Gigi asked, opening the box of rice and pouring some on a plate, before adding a few spoonfuls of chicken tikka.
“Ooooooh, yes,” Lydia gushed, eyes brightening. “One sec, I just gotta go get my laptop.”
She was back a few moments later, armed with her laptop and a mischievous smile on her face.
“Should I be scared?” Gigi asked, her arm freezing for a moment as she raised her fork to her mouth.
“Nah,” Lydia said, dropping down on the couch and turning towards Gigi. “Okay, so you know how Lizzie and Darcy are just totally gross all the time and constantly macking on each other even though they pretend not to?”
Gigi laughed. “Oh, yes. It’s adorable.”
“Whatever — I decided to tease them about it. So you know how there are all these weirdo fans who write stories or whatever about them online? Why they care so much about Lizzie and Darcy together I don’t know, but anyway, there’s some pretty sexy stuff out there, actually, and I thought I’d print some out and paste it all over the apartment. And you’ll never guess what I found.”
“I’m not sure I even want to.”
“People have written stories about the two of us. Together,” Lydia said, her eyes wide and sparkling, turning her computer with a flourish to show Gigi. “Apparently, we’re super adorbs. Which we already know, of course, but especially together.”
Partly curious, partly apprehensive, Gigi leaned forward to look at the text Lydia had brought up on her screen. Lydia, not really paying attention, had started helping herself to generous helpings of food, to the point where the food threatened to fall off the edge of her plate. The room was silent for a few moments, other than the clinking of metal to china, and the occasional grown of delight from Lydia as she ate her food.
“You’re right. This naan is totally, amazingly fantabulous,” Lydia said, her eyes closed. Gigi didn’t say anything for another moment until:
“Oh,” her voice remarkably light and squeaky, a rosy blush tinting her cheeks, and rapidly deepening. Lydia burst into laughter.
“I know, right?!”
“Oh.” Gigi was becoming rapidly absorbed in the material, her eyes comically wide as she read, her lips just slightly parted.
Lydia sipped at her drink as she waited for Gigi to finish the fic.
“Well, it’s certainly well-written?” Gigi said uncertainly, when she finally looked up to meet Lydia’s eyes.
“Who cares about that?” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “We’re hot, and it’s fucking hilarious. I mean, can you imagine?”
“Surprisingly well now, actually,” Gigi murmured, shaking her head. “Wow, okay, who even wrote this?”
“I don’t know, does it matter?” Lydia said, shrugging. Gigi scrolled up to the top, where the username krakens was printed below the title of the fic.
“Well, good thing she didn’t write some kind of weird mythological kraken porn then,” Gigi said, giggling. “If it is a she, I guess?”
“Oh, it’s def a she,” Lydia confirmed, nodding her head. “No way a dude would have been able to write that kind of girl-on-girl action.”
“Good point. Wait, so do you not find this creepy at all?” Gigi asked, raising her immaculately shaped eyebrows. Lydia opened her mouth, before promptly closing it again.
“I hadn’t actually thought about it? I just thought it was funny, really. I mean, the two of us? Who’da thunk?”
“People on the internet, apparently,” Gigi said, giggling, leaning back and taking a sip of her lassi, looking over at the girl beside her pensively. Lydia, who had been finishing up her plate, looked over a moment later to find Gigi still staring at her.
“What? Do I have food all over my face or something?” she asked, grinning uncertainly and trying to get a look at herself in the reflection of her fork.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Gigi said softly. “Maybe me?”
“Maybe you what?”
“Maybe I’ve thought that too?” Gigi said slowly, uncertainly, a shy smile on her face. She held Lydia’s eyes for another moment, before breaking off suddenly and looking down into her drink. “Shit, sorry, that was weird.”
When she looked back up again, Lydia was suddenly much, much closer, and before she had the chance to say anything, their lips were touching; first softly, tentatively, before Lydia reached over and pulled her closer, hands tugging at the slanted blazer lapels Gigi was wearing, pressing harder, tasting her.
She tasted of mango.
A few long moments later, Lydia broke the kiss, sitting back again, lips slightly swollen. “I wanted to see if it was just as hot IRL.”
“And?”
“It was hotter.”
The next day, their fridge was filled to the brim with leftovers.