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Elphaba rose with the sun. Light streamed in through the curtains, warming her face, and birds began to chirp outside the bedroom window. Out of habit, Elphaba reached across the bed, searching for Glinda to pull her closer, but her hand only met the duvet.
"Glinda?" Elphaba called, voice gravelly from sleep, eyes still shut and hoping for a few more minutes of rest. And that Glinda would slide back into bed if she asked nicely enough.
When Glinda didn't call back to her, Elphaba cracked one eye open, finding a note propped on top of Glinda's pillow. It was Glinda's favorite pink stationary, and her loopy script written with golden glitter pen.
My darling Elphie,
Do not fret! I've just taken Aoife out for a stroll—you know how I cannot say no to her. Promise we won't be long—until then, check the kitchen!
Happy Valentines Day ♡
Glinda
Elphaba traced the ink with her thumb, warmth blooming in her chest. The empty bed was quickly forgiven. She kept the note with her, tucked safe in the pocket of her robe as she padded into the kitchen. A sweet aroma—Glinda, baking?—beckoned her, mingling with the smell of spring in the air, and she followed it to the source.
On the kitchen counter sat another note, this time next to a plate of warm turnovers. Glinda had drawn on them with icing, some with little hearts, some with a flower or two, some with E+G drizzled on top.
Do you remember when I set this very kitchen on fire with those horribly evil homemade pastries that surely had a vendetta against me? I'm sure you do—I tried that fire dampening spell, and then it rained indoors, and I couldn't get it to stop. But when you laughed, and you kissed me in the rain, it didn't seem so scary anymore. Nothing frightens me when you're around.
Anyways, I am almost positively certain I got the recipe right this time. I used the blueberries from the garden, the ones you and Aoife love. And, look! No fire. Though, I think a kiss is still in order.
All my love,
Glinda
P.S. look in the vanity!
Upon closer inspection, the kitchen looked like a twister had turned it upside down and inside out, and Elphaba swore every single pot, pan, and utensil they owned was spilling out of the sink or stacked on the counters and had some pastry residue on it. But, like Glinda said, no fire.
And the pastries were indeed perfect.
Turnover in hand, Elphaba journeyed back to their bedroom. As promised, the next note rested on Glinda's vanity.
I tracked down an old portrait of your mother in Nest Hardings. I think she was only a girl, maybe the age we were when we went to Shiz. The painting was in no condition to travel, but I remember it vividly, probably because she reminds me of you. I knew I had to sketch her—I hope she thinks I've done her justice.
I want you to tell me more about her—I love your stories ♡
Your dearest darlingest wife,
Glinda
P.S. the closet next!
What struck her then wasn't painful, but something adjacent. A longing, perhaps. She'd long felt it difficult to wade through the feelings surrounding her mother, but despite everything, she still missed her. Elphaba had missed her for far, far longer than she'd known her, and the mother she knew could only ever be remembered through her childhood eyes. Who Melena was, the woman beyond her role as mother, Elphaba realized she'd never fully grasp. She only had a glimpse.
Her mother's spirit persisted, though, as if trying to prove to Elphaba that such a thing existed.
Elphaba saw her in Glinda, sometimes, too.
They might've got on, in another life.
Elphaba flipped the note over, and there she was—her mother, youth preserved in graphite, smiling that sly smile of hers, with the light of her eyes brighter from the untouched fibers of the paper than Elphaba had ever seen in her lifetime.
Elphaba brought the note to her chest, holding it against her heart. and the birds outside quieted as if giving her a moment of peace.
She set the portrait on her bedside table, right next to the flowers Glinda had picked from the garden the morning prior, before ventured into the closet.
Boots—Elphaba's boots—sat in the middle of the floor alongside a shoebox and Glinda's next note.
Before you say anything, I know these are your boots—but, maybe you've noticed, I wear them on occasion, and I am quite attached. See, I got to know them very well when they were in my closet in the Emerald City. When I put them on, I feel brave. I feel like I could be as brave as you. That's all to say, I have officially stolen them.
And I know you're going to say, Glinda, how is this a gift? And I would say, Elphie, I'm not done explaining yet, so be patient. I have a fair trade.
I went to the cordwainer in town (he's a temperamental old man, but to his craft, no one compares) and had another pair made. To ensure I do not accidentally steal this pair, I added a special touch.
Kisses,
Glinda
P.S. now the veranda!
Elphaba's cheeks grew sore from smiling, but she couldn't help it. Glinda had a way about her, this way of being, that made Elphaba feel like her heart might try and burst forth from her chest. Elphaba moved the boots to Glinda's side of the closet. Even if they had ended up there with no warning, Elphaba wouldn't have protested. Those boots became Glinda's years ago.
She returned to the box, lifted the lid, and parsed through the abundance of colorful gift paper to access the new boots. Nearly identical in style, the boots had the same bones as the one's that now belonged to Glinda, but all along the black leather, Glinda had painted tiny poppies. Clusters by the heel, foliage around the stitching, petals along the shaft, all in soft oranges and reds and whites.
Just like the poppies Elphaba had been growing for Glinda in their garden.
Elphaba wore the boots out to the veranda where Glinda's last note was waiting. It sat on top of a blanket, and the blanket was draped over their porch swing, concealing all but the rectangular shape of her gift.
As you know, I have taken up painting. I'm finally on good terms with the watercolors you gifted me—they're finicky and particular and opinionated—but they're beautiful too. Almost as beautiful as you.
This gift is just as much mine as is it yours, I guess, because I got to spend many hours looking at you as I put it together. Elphaba Thropp, you are my muse ♡
Eternally yours,
Glinda
Elphaba pulled the blanket from the swing and wrapped it around her shoulders, shielding herself from the chilled early-morning air, and the frame beneath was revealed.
Elphaba sometimes wondered what Glinda saw when she looked at her. Glinda had tried, on occasion, to describe with words, but words alone really never captured it. Not in the way Glinda's art could. Glinda's art wasn't a replica, nor was it an objective look at Elphaba's profile. Her pieces could never be mistaken for a photo from a camera. Rather, the colors, the strokes, the composition, the subjects that had emphasis—it was all filtered through Glinda's heart as much as it was her eyes.
In the left half of the painting, Elphaba was laughing, her nose crinkling a little from the delight in her smile. It looked like Glinda had meticulously painted each of Elphaba's freckles across her cheeks, one at a time, like mapped constellations. The background of the painting was blurred, abstract, and rich like the golden hour before sunset, giving the impression that the light came from Elphaba herself. Aoife, who's profile took up the other half, was in a similar state of pure joy. She seemed to be the source of Elphaba's glee, tongue hanging out in the closest a dog could get to a smile.
It was then that Elphaba saw, from the corner of her vision, movement to the east. On the horizon, right where the sun was rising and coloring the sky in pinks and oranges, Glinda and Aoife appeared as silhouettes. Aoife bounded like a deer, leaping up over the tall prairie grass and then disappearing beneath every couple of seconds as she raced Glinda back towards the house—their favorite game.
Aoife beat her, as always, and ran up to Elphaba, tail wagging relentlessly with the same expression Glinda had painted in her portrait. Aoife's plush, reddish fur was unruly from her adventure, and bits of dandelion fluff stuck to her.
"Morning, love," Elphaba cooed, crouching to pet her. She just about tried to climb into Elphaba's skin. She was like Glinda, in that way.
Glinda caught up, breath coming in quick pants from exertion, and she shimmied her way between Aoife and Elphaba with a smile.
"My turn," she said, pulling Elphaba's arms until she stood up, bringing her in range for Glinda to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose and then her lips. "Did you enjoy the treasure hunt?"
"Very much," Elphaba replied, turning her hip to show off her boots. "I loved it. I love you. And speaking of," Elphaba took Glinda's hand, leading them back indoors, "come—your gift is in here."
Aoife jumped up onto the window alcove where her favorite cushion—the one with the Aoife-shaped indent—was being warmed by the sun. Next to the alcove sat a small, wooden bookshelf with Elphaba's collection, and Elphaba pulled it away from the wall to get to box containing Glinda's gift.
"Why'd you hide it all the way back there?" Glinda asked, taking a seat next to Aoife.
"Because you snoop," Elphaba said, chuckling. She put the box on Glinda's waiting lap, kneeling in front of her.
"You'll have to let me explain…" Elphaba started, but Glinda had already torn through the cardboard.
Glinda picked one of the tiny glass jars, smiling growing as it dawned on her what it was.
"The colors are from the garden," Elphaba told her. "Each one matches a flower—all your favorites."
Glinda couldn't grow a plant if her life depended on it. But Elphaba had a proclivity and natural talent—a green thumb, if you will—and the garden thrived under her care. It was Glinda's favorite place on the entire property, and during the spring and summer, she put together a fresh bouquet every day.
Elphaba had pressed some of the flowers, all the ones Glinda gravitated towards, the ones she told Elphaba about, the ones she requested be planted year after year, and those petals were sealed into the lids of the jars. With a little magic, and a few minor paint splatters, Elphaba turned the paint pigments into perfect matches.
Glinda took all the jars out one by one, holding them up to the light and admiring, eyes wide in awe.
"Happy Valentine's Day, my sweet," Elphaba said as Glinda returned the last jar to the box. Glinda didn't respond with words—she threw her arms over Elphaba's shoulders, nearly knocking them both into the window, and hugged her close, close enough that Elphaba could smell the tantalizing mixture of shampoo and fresh, outdoor air on her hair.
"What will you paint with them?" Elphaba asked, curious what the cogs in her mind were conjuring, and Glinda sat back, pondering.
Then, Glinda narrowed her eyes at Elphaba, tilting her head in interest. She pulled her lip between her teeth, and there might as well have been a light bulb hovering over her head.
She stood, guiding Elphaba by the shoulders to sit down in her place, right next to Aoife and where the sun's rays shined gold through the glass.
"Stay right there!" Glinda told her, in lieu of an explanation, and took off towards the back patio—Glinda's studio. She returned seconds later, several thin paintbrushes in hand.
"I wish you could see you right now," Glinda said, squeezing in next to Elphaba and Aoife.
Elphaba blushed a dark green. She'd never, not in the years she'd known Glinda, become immune to her compliments.
"I can picture it," Glinda murmured, pushing Elphaba's robe down and off her shoulder to expose the skin there. The move wasn't sensual—though, it was appreciative, like Glinda was preparing a canvas to receive.
"Flowers, here," Glinda traced her finger delicately on Elphaba's collarbone, then over her shoulder, and Elphaba pulled her arm free of the sleeve. "Leaves, there…" Glinda continued her path, drawing her fingers over Elphaba's bicep, the sensitive spot at the crook of her inner elbow, and down her forearm, circling her wrist.
"Can I?" Glinda asked, bringing her gaze back up to Elphaba's.
Elphaba nodded, and Aoife's ear twitched at Glinda's quiet squeal of excitement.
Despite being bare besides the robe hanging loosely on her left side and over her lap, Elphaba was no where near cold, not between the sun shining on the three of them or the warmth from Glinda's hands or the puff of her focused breath against Elphaba's skin as she leaned in close.
Aoife rested her head on Elphaba's thigh, watching Glinda intently.
Following the imaginary path she'd laid, Glinda started at Elphaba's collarbone, loading the brush with the deep, rich pink from the rhododendron.
"Pink goes so good with green," Glinda said under her breath, grinning in remembrance. The flower came to life right there on Elphaba's skin, folding delicately around the shape of her collarbone and the hollow of her neck. She reached for the light, paler pink next, the one that Elphaba had made with the cherry blossom tree. Glinda painted it to drape over Elphaba's shoulder, dangling like it did on the tree outside the window, and the flowers outside swayed gently in the breeze. A couple of bees flew around the flowers, and Aoife tracked them with only her eyes, too close to falling asleep to exert the effort of lifting her head.
Glinda hummed as she worked, quiet enough that Elphaba thought it might have been subconscious. The crease between her eyebrows got deeper, than relaxed, and grew deeper again, a symptom of her concentration. With her free hand, Elphaba brushed the stray strands of hair from Glinda's face—though some already had bits of paint dried on—and tucked them behind her ear, twirling some of the soft, longer locks between her fingers. And Glinda sighed, content, leaning into Elphaba's touch.
The red zinnia, the purple salvia, the orange poppies…one by one, they materialized under Glinda's brush until Elphaba's arm resembled one of Glinda's bouquets.
Once Glinda reached Elphaba's wrist with the final flower, she slid the brush over her ear—leaving a little orange paint on her temple, though she didn't seem to notice—and brought Elphaba's hand up to her lips, leaving a kiss on her knuckles.
"I don't know if any other canvas will compare, now," she said, lips brushing against Elphaba's fingers. "Here," Glinda tugged her hand, taking them both to the mirror in the bedroom. "Look."
And Elphaba did—and, in doing so, she realized Glinda wasn't looking in the mirror with her. She was just looking at Elphaba, admiring her like Elphaba admired the art.
"This will be hard to beat next year," Elphaba said, twisting her arm to see all the details.
Glinda shrugged, smirking. "We never shy from a challenge."