This was how her days went, for years.

Little hands would wake her up when all was still veiled by the grey of night, her husband a mere shape under the covers, and she would drag her feet out of bed, wrap herself in her pink bathrobe, and conjure up a smile. She would shush Missy, herd the twins out of the bedroom so Daddy could sleep a little longer. Later, the alarm would be the first to greet her in the mornings, and she missed those not-really-whispery voices and ache for Missy humming a sweet song or Sheldon recounting a dream about aliens and spaceships.

This was how her days started, sometimes. She would roll over in bed, collide with a big, sturdy teddy bear of a man, and be shocked to see him there, that this was where she'd ended up, in all the roles her younger self had vowed to escape. Only for a few seconds. She never allowed more, would just get up and dress and start breakfast and praise the painted skies outside the window — reds, oranges, yellows. He had tried, in the beginning, to tempt her to stay under the sheets with him, with a suggestive grin and some bawdy comments, and she'd huff and puff and get her tail up — she was a mother. She had duties.

This was how her day started, today. It was the sun that woke her up: bright and blinding, the garage swelteringly hot under its warmhearted embrace. She hummed, strangely soothed by the dazzling welcome, and snuggled closer into the body by her side, burying her face into a pillow of dark, tangled curls. She didn't want to return to reality yet, confront her sticky thighs, her sleepy mind, the pleasing ache in her tired muscles, the leftover scents of cigarette smoke and sex. All soft curves against sweat-sheened skin, a sweet, content sigh.

She looked at Jeanie, serene in her sleep, breasts rising and falling, sunlight caressing her shoulders, lips slightly parted, like in their childhood. How could it be like this? How could it feel like this, charged and falling and soaring and crashing and held, all at the same time? Jeanie, flush against her, no space between them. Finally, she stumbled upon some real guilt: that she had robbed her husband of this all these years. Their lackluster, almost dutiful meetings under the covers; she'd assumed it was what married post-baby sex was like. And hadn't she tried, the good wife she strove to be? The way she had given herself to Jeanie so entirely, so shamelessly, trusting and eager, still left wanting more — she'd never been able to do that with him. Maybe Brenda had. Maybe they both finally found what'd been missing in their marriage. Her heart swelled painfully tight, and she held her breath, willing to stop the tears welling up in frothing regret — how every time she'd fled from her marital bed before her husband woke up, she could've been watching her whole world in the lashes of a woman who kissed her like she'd never heard of the Bible.

She rolled onto her back, swallowed a sound that sprang loose somewhere low in her stomach. The stuffy air clutched onto her naked skin, and the floodgates collapsed; she pressed her palm against her mouth to keep herself quiet, but her shoulders shook, and her cheeks were wet, salt on her tongue. She hated it, didn't want this to be the first thing Jeanie would see after they'd bared their very souls to one another, only she couldn't stop: if mere hours ago, they'd been making up for eighteen years of lost kisses, now she was making up for years of frozen tears.

"Mare?"

It was the fear she'd encountered when Jeanie'd been on her knees before her, embedded in a sleepy murmur, and she turned back and shivered as she caught it in the brown of her eyes again — and again, it hit her how they'd both been hurt, by others and each other, by the whole darn world.

She turned over on her side, tenderly brushed Jeanie's hair back, left her hand on her cheek. "Silly of me," she said, voice trembling, "I was just thinking about what George said. How much of my life I wasted."

The fear dispersed by a shimmery glaze, Jeanie took the hand in her own and kissed it sweetly, rousing those butterflies she'd believed were a teenage fantasy. "You got years left, baby," she said, and yawned, her eyes flittering closed again, entwining their fingers. "In the spirit of your ex, we might be nearing halftime, but we're a long time off from calling the scores." She opened one bleary eye in an endearing, reversed wink.

"That's terrible," she said, because it was all she could say, all she could manage in the blubbery, messy, lovesick state she found herself in, with Jeanie drawing her in, curling her arms around her naked body, and she rested her head on her chest and listened to the steady beat of her heart, just for her, all for her, and Jeanie pressed her lips to her hair, and whispered: "I'm so glad it was real."

Love had come in many forms in her life. The jagged, rosy sweet love for her daddy, who'd never coped well with his little girl growing up. The turbulent, up-and-down love for her mother, that transformed from heated actions borne from misunderstandings and the need for attention, to a steady, fierce warmth she could always count on. The faithful, trusting love in Jesus, who kept her going through the good and the bad. The love for her kids, ever-present, ever-growing, and un-ending. Even the love for her husband, a hard-won, fragile, labored strum, some days warmer than others.

But this, this was different still, a love awoken into burning flame, hot to the touch, warm inside, old, dead roots nurtured into a glowing health so bright that it could reduce her to what she was now, head-over-heels, overwhelmed, disoriented, wanting nothing more than to stay in bed and sleep and kiss and make love like there was no-one else besides them.

She was giggly, her eyes steeling down to a perfect butt as Jeanie walked to the backdoor with a spring in her step and a bounce to her curls. She wasn't paying attention, the countless times she had come in the past twelve hours making a rose-colored mush of her otherwise so organized mind, and ran smack into Jeanie. She stumbled, laughed, Jeanie sneaking a steadying arm around her waist. For a moment, she found herself out of breath, lost in a pair of beautiful brown eyes.

She would've kissed her, again, for the millionth time since she marched down to the Dean's place with simmering courage; she really would have, if Jeanie hadn't let her go, with an amused, "Watch yourself, Mare."

Ridiculous, how disappointed she could be when a single opportunity was skipped, like Sheldon being denied a trip to the comic book store. She felt like a fish out of water, unaccustomed to being so caught up in anyone, something she used to associate with the young and careless.

"Looks like we've got a full company this morning. Good morning, all."

It was only then, when Jeanie's greeting was met with five similar mornings, that she noticed the other people in the kitchen: Missy, all happy and smiling, toying with the star-shaped eraser on the back of her pencil; Georgie, all smirking and knowing next to a Mandy who was biting down hard on her lip, both bent over a book with biology diagrams; her mother blowing into a cup of coffee, looking over the rim from her daughter to Jeanie; and Sheldon, his mouth set in as straight a line as his shoulders.

Jeanie wasn't the whole entire universe; it came as more of a shock than it should've been. Her stomach teemed with a million tiny somersaulting planes as she looked at each face and replayed the unspeakable things Jeanie had done to her, the unspeakable things she'd done in return. She blushed, averted her gaze, managed to remark something about the brilliant skies out the window and them being cooped up inside, her voice too high and loud.

Her hands shook while they started to prepare breakfast, Jeanie sending her a silent 'Are you okay' with a touch and a worried glance, and her gifting a smile in return, one that told of all the things she couldn't say out loud.

"That's it? Is everyone just going to accept Mom's atypical behavior?"

It was Sheldon, of course. Everything had been too good to be true, anyway, too smooth, too dreamy. She felt dizzy, holding her breath, and gripped the counter to avoid sinking through her shaky knees. Next to her, Jeanie had the coffee pot suspended in mid-air above the two empty mugs she'd set out for them, still as a frog hiding from a heron. They had been so caught up in each other, dove in all at once instead of the small steps they'd taken as girls, that they hadn't spared one single thought to what would happen outside of their cozy bubble.

"Shut up," Georgie pitched in, once again coming to the rescue, "Ma's had a hard time. She can use a few hours of extra sleep."

Mary felt her eyes sting again, moved by the care her son had been showing for her lately — at least, she'd done something right in all those years of being a wife.

Luckily, or maybe less, Sheldon was still the same boy he'd always been. He looked her over, eyes wide in surprise, and concluded, in his know-it-all tone: "She doesn't look like she's slept very well."

Her mother produced an undignified snort. Meeting her gaze, she quickly looked away, another one of those fierce blushes overtaking her, worse than a fire hose. Dear Lord, if she hadn't been so distracted by Jeanie teaching her those filthy words while they washed up at the sink, an escort's bath, only coarser, the various terms for what she'd done last night with her tongue, she would've been of sound mind and suggested Jeanie come in through the front door.

"I don't know," Mandy said, "I think you look pretty radiant, Mary."

She couldn't respond, knowing that Mandy knew. The teasing was harmless and playful, yet it sent an ice-cold shiver down her spine, realizing that more than half of the people in this kitchen were in on what had once been the best-kept secret in all of Medford. Like it was an innocent piece of gossip, the how 'bout that her husband had swung her way right in this very spot. She touched the crucifix, heavy on her chest; where it'd had brought her reassurance before, it was now a reminder of the sins she committed, the lies she'd crafted. It would've been too telling to leave it off. If she had, she could've just as well carried a sign around saying I've slept with a woman, and it was so good I thought she was god.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Mom?"

She sighed and turned to her son. He was only concerned for her, she knew. There'd been so many changes for him lately that his mother not leaving her bed before eight thirty must've tipped the bucket that was his overcrowded brain. For a long, ticking second, she envisioned what would happen if she supplied the truth — gaping mouths and spilled coffee and this burden lifted from her shoulders, and said: "Like Georgie said, I was tired, and I overslept. I'm sorry for worrying you, Shelly." It wasn't a lie. Not really.

"Perhaps you should plan a visit to the doctor's. You've been looking a little flushed lately. Those might be symptoms of the menopause. Are you experiencing any night sweats or weight gain?"

Muffled snickering filled the kitchen, her mother cackling with her head tipped back, slapping the table, amongst Missy's "What's the menopause?". With hot cheeks, Mary put her hands on her hips and mustered up her most condemning stare. "I am not menopausal, and I will not hear that word uttered again, understood?"

Sheldon looked at his sister. "Mood changes are a symptom as well."

She sighed in frustration, dropped her arms, and met Jeanie's infectious grin, washing away her annoyance with worrying ease. "I know I've been having a lot of those night sweats lately," Jeanie murmured into her coffee, only audible to her, and she almost knocked her own mug over in a fluster.

"Now, onto a different matter. Jean," Sheldon continued, and Jeanie looked up, half scared, half amused, "you are spending about fifty-three percent of your time here. I will write you a copy of my bathroom schedule so you know when the bathroom is occupied. And, of course, you're allowed to pencil yourself in." He bowed his head graciously, and Mary wondered again, what would happen if she just told the truth?

Her mother chuckled. "That's a big deal, Jean. Means you've captured his heart."

Jeanie smiled an uncharacteristically shy smile, burying it in her mug, and managed a subdued 'thanks.' Then, her eyes went wide, and she wrapped her fingers around Mary's wrist, coffee sloshing in her mug, sparks skittering over Mary's skin. "Fuck!" she cursed, and Mary called out a customary "Language!" in an attempt to block out the images flooding her mind, only Jeanie made it worse then, with an "I'll be sure to wash my mouth later," and a look that didn't leave any doubt as to what she was referring to, and Mary very much forgot what she was doing.

A string of giggles left her, stopping abruptly when she checked the time herself — "Good Lord! That late?"

She heard her mother comment something under her breath, caught Sheldon opening his mouth to speak, but Missy cut him to the chase: "Yeah, Mom. I'm so gonna use this next time you pound on my door because you think I'm sleeping too late."

She sputtered, completely confused, those rose-tinted glasses preventing her from telling her off or erupting into a panic. The bowling alley was supposed to open in ten, and here she was, stupidly disappointed that she wasn't going to spend the day naked and sated, already so deep into her sinful affair that there was no way out left. She had a life. She couldn't just disappear off to somewhere secluded with the woman she loved so much and devote all her time to kissing and laughing.

Jeanie moved her hand closer, cautiously, barely noticeable, and obscured behind mugs and pots, touched her pinky finger to hers — another spark. "If you go now, I'll make you breakfast and bring it by asap."

She drowned in the brown and kissed her with her eyes, like she'd done so many times before. If this was how her days would start from now on, she would be a content woman.

She lingered in the driveway, as if she'd known Jeanie would come out. She rolled down the window, watching her approach in the rear-view mirror, her heart beating with forceful drums. Once again, she'd been with Jeanie Lucas in the deepest sense, and once again, she didn't think she'd ever get enough of her. And despite all, the world was still spinning, the sky still blue, the sun still shining, no punishment imminent. Georgie knew, Mandy knew, her mother probably suspected — yet life went on. She wondered now, carefully, tasting the thought like a new ice cream flavor, if this could be more than a stolen dream.

Jeanie bowed her head and rested her elbows on the doorframe, gorgeous curls spilling into the car. She clutched the wheel, willed herself to remember Pastor Jeff mowing his lawn a few houses down the block, to kiss with her eyes and not her lips. "Did I forget something?" she said, already forgetting where she was going or what she was supposed to be doing.

Jeanie shook her head. "No. Just wanted to check if you're okay."

She was too close, agonizingly close, and it wasn't fair, and there was so much wasted time, and she wanted — needed — "I love you."

It was out before she could mull it over, like a secret tumbling from the tip of her tongue, and she trembled from head to toe and hit the gas, almost running Jeanie over. Three little words she'd said countless times before, now making her lose her footing, her mind, her heart.

She dared a glance in her side-view mirror, jolted at the sight of Jeanie running after, came to an abrupt stop next to Pastor Jeff and his lawnmower. Jeanie halted too, put her hands to her mouth, and yelled, her voice soaring down the quiet street: "Same!"

She smiled, stepped on the gas again, Pastor Jeff staring after her in alarm, and realized that it was the loudest their love had ever been.