Jeanie was a goner.

She was a wild child, according to the old prunes occupying the second and third rows in church on Sunday mornings, a troublemaker in need of a thorough thrashing. Little did they know she already received one every so often, if she'd forgotten to wash the dirt from her nail rims, or came home with a rip in her jeans, or simply said something her daddy disapproved of. Unfortunately, her daddy disapproved of many things. She'd tried to scrub her hands and wear a dress and say her prayers, and still, the iron eyes behind thick-framed glasses flashed coldly at her like she was a sticky piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

She was old enough to understand her daddy didn't love her as daddies were supposed to. So, why try? She might as well skip class if she was going to be punished for it anyway. Either way, he would blanket her back with purple clouds of bruises. At six, she vowed to never let anyone boss her around.

She didn't break her pledge until she met a girl with a diamond smile and eyes bright as the summer sky–formed of pure light and a tad of rascality, Mary wove their fingers together as if her skin wasn't battered and tainted, and Jeanie soaked up every word that fell from her lips, suddenly as obedient as a lamb.

She carried Mary in her heart like a talisman. During freezing nights locked up in a pitch-black dormitory, she buried her face into her pillow and imagined it a wave of blonde hair, so real she could almost detect a second pulse next to her own, and a honey voice whispering stories from Little House on the Prairie in her ear, warm breath fanning over her neck. Pressed into a random kid in the back of a stinking Diesel van, jolted around at every ditch and turn in the road to safety, Mary had cradled her in her arms, muttering sweet nothings. At the end of a back alley, ducked into her coat, Mary had been there to nudge her towards the twinkling disco lights and pumped up music of the bar inside. She'd conjured her up so many times that when she tried one day and felt her slip through the cracks, she almost couldn't believe it.

Now, Jean rambled about her apartment in the dead of night, from the fridge to the sideboard to the creaking staircase leading down to the bar—tracing the collection of memories she'd scattered throughout her world, embedding Mary as deeply into her San Francisco life as she could, which was not nearly deep enough. Pictures sweet and innocent, of two little girls grinning in the back of a truck, pictures bold and novel, of a kiss finally captured for the ages, a love so loud that she'd screamed it through the streets, pictures warm and steady, of Mary, the kids, Mandy and her singing Happy Birthday to an amused Connie, a new kind of family.

Her old family still fit, bounced back to her current family in no time, with deafening applause and suffocating hugs as she stepped into the darkened bar and was met with the entire regular crowd jumping out from their hiding places, framed by a strung-up Welcome home!! banner drawn by Nina in pink Sharpie. She was home, finally, back where she could grow and bloom, and yet — she wished she could show them what she'd found, this hurting piece of her locked up in a little red box, free at last.

That first night back, she danced and drank, laughed and chatted, and felt the small-town tension exit her body in droves. Funny, how quickly she'd gotten used to the disdain stalking her around Medford parking lots and supermarkets. If only Mary could experience what it was like to move about without the judgmental stares of neighbors, to break out of that stifling closet and live with dignity.

Maybe in a few years.

She kept repeating that to herself as she raised her vodka in a toast, tapped beer after beer after beer for faces familiar and new, as she turned off the lights and trudged up the stairs, the buzz of the chatter still echoing in her ears, drunk on the bliss of community, swaying on her feet.

As she approached Missy the third, with her flicking tail, those soft white paws, and perked-up ears, and sank to her knees to say, "Hey, girl," and was struck on her nose, the cat scurrying off into the bedroom.

The pain was bearable. She just needed some time, after all.

She submerged herself into the warm bath that was her home, her bar, her friends. Their patience and understanding soothed the ache in her stiff bones, once again proving blood ran thinner than water. How she held up her camera to Lou, and Lou said, "I'll take care of that for you," and was handed a folder bulging with pictures a few days later. How Stacey had seen her struggle with scissors and double-sided tape and rolled up her sleeves to help her stick the images to the pages all neat and straight. How Nina asked her a million questions about her time in Texas and responded with genuine enthusiasm each time. How Tiff called out "hot!" at each photo of Mary that passed through her hands. How Michelle shared a silent drink with her whenever a bucket of ice cold missing was dunked over her head, despite their own recent relationship history. How her love for them had anchored itself even further into the ground than before.

She fell back into her routine as easily as slipping into a well-worn pair of shoes. She threw herself into getting the books back in order, counting the mysterious surplus cases of Hooch nobody remembered purchasing, designing new ads for the local lesbian magazines with Nina—still, secretly, she was waiting. This time, for a day that might never come.

The sun was setting behind the roof of the neighboring cafe, lingering pale orange bathing the patio in a faint glow. They were enjoying ten minutes to themselves before Saturday night would kick off and the ladies came streaming in, overwhelming the bar with their bright eyeshadow and intoxicating perfumes, their bubbly chatter and scarcely contained anticipation. The twenty-year-old version of Jean had dreamed of spotting Mary among them, drawing to the place like a magnet to metal. The thirty-four-year-old version was wise enough to separate fantasy from reality.

Tiff sat cross-legged on top of the picnic table, a cigarette stocked behind her ear, the vodka in her tumbler glass swirling in circles as she turned it around and around. "Come on," she said. "You can't still be pissed at me for confiscating your precious Melissa Etheridge CDs. You were driving us all insane."

The others avoided her gaze, Lou inspecting her glass of water like it contained an entire ocean. Jean didn't answer. She firmly believed she had the right to drown her heartache in some beautiful love songs if she wished—it was her damn bar, after all.

"Look, Jean-Jean," Tiff continued. "Maybe you should have a little fun tonight. I don't know. You and Mary were together for what? A month? Two? You just need to get your groove back, hey." She slapped Jean's shoulder. Vodka spilled onto her own hand, and she licked it off with more tongue than necessary, typical Tiff style. "A little birdie tipped me off, said Denise Double Dimple is coming tonight." She winked, also in typical Tiff style.

Stacey, crouched by the porch swing with her toolkit, removed a screw from between her lips. "Christ, Tiff, don't call her that."

Tiff spread her arms, more vodka dripping to the table. "Well, how else are we gonna keep the Denises apart? I can't help it that all the Denises in Cali turn gay. There's flat-chested Denise, and Denise with the teeth—"

This mindless squabbling had always filled Jean with champagne bubbles of happiness. To be a member of this bundle of mismatched misfits, all burdened by their own collection of struggles and sufferings. Restless Tiff, damaged by a Utah conversion camp, erased each scar inflicted by her parents by conquering and exploring every woman that caught her fancy, as if to say, "If I'm forbidden to have sex with women, I'll just need to make sure to bed as many as possible." She wondered what Mary would think of her—sweet, giggly Mary, who still couldn't say laundromat without blushing.

Jean shivered. The last of the sun had dipped behind the building, and the glow from behind the windows and the cigarette between Michelle's fingers were now the only sources of light. Tiff didn't understand, and would never. It hadn't been just a couple of months. It was half a lifetime.

The bench shook. Stacey had planted one of her heavy boots on it to stretch her leg, the sleeves of her flannel rolled up to reveal burly arms inked with dark flowers and skulls. "Denise with the teeth is something, woo," she said, chuckling gruffly, then looked down at Jean. "Might not be the worst idea, you know. Getting back on that horse. Plenty of ladies desperate for a chance with their favorite bartender."

Tiff high-fived Stacey. "You understand me, Stace. About time we lift our girl out of the dumps. Frankly, that Mary sounded a little boring anyway. Housewife with kids? Come on."

"Tiffany."

Surprisingly, it was Michelle who called her out. So far, she'd been quietly observing, smoking a cigarette in deliberate, slow movements that almost made Jean hanker for a puff herself. Stunning Michelle, leaning against the brick wall with her golden hoop earrings dangling as she turned her head, a sliver of dark skin teasing from between the crop top and low-rise jeans, exposing the top of her hip bones. Easily one of the most beautiful women Jean had dated, and yet, she felt nothing but friendly fondness now.

Tiff, however, never knew when to quit. "I'm just saying," she said, "the options were pretty limited in the Lone Star State, and I, for one, can't see Jean get the hots for some Bible-thumper here in Cali—"

"Zip it, Tiffany. I mean it."

Michelle pinned Tiff down with her therapist look, the one that saw right through you like an X-ray, her tongue razor-sharp, and Jean realized then that they must've been talking about her behind her back. Was Tiff just voicing what everyone else was thinking?

"Yeah," Nina chimed in, squeezing Jean's shoulder, "You fall who you fall for, even if it makes no sense."

"But it makes perfect sense," Michelle said, tapping her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. "This is Jean's home. We are her children."

Tiff snorted, spitting out her drink. Drops of it landed on Jean's face. "Lots of incest going on around here," she said.

"It was metaphorical."

"What's that, a sex thing?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

The beer in Jean's bottle was lukewarm and foamless by now, and she grimaced at the foul taste. She hid behind her hair, not sure how to handle the brewing anger pushing to take the reins—she rarely let it, determined not to be like her daddy, and yet, it hadn't been this hard to contain in ages. The last time had been her final fight with Michelle, the one that'd put an end to their relationship, for exactly this reason.

"Look," Michelle said, and Jean willed her to stop, "the trauma that Jean and Mary experienced together, it's the sort of thing that—"

She wondered then, if her eyes flashed steel grey like her daddy's would, if she was capable of radiating such fury. She shot up from her seat, slamming her bottle onto the table, her hands shaking like a drunk's, and burst open. "Will you please," she said, with a voice that could cut through stone, "stop analyzing my goddamn childhood? You're not my fucking therapist!"

"Jean—"

"No. Just—no. I love her, okay? I love her, and if it wasn't for this fucked up world, we would've made it. Because we just work."

Her breathing hitched, the anger drowned in a desperate sob, and Nina enveloped her in a warm hug, the top of her head not even reaching her chin. "We know, honey," she said, "we all know."

Tiff patted her shoulder awkwardly, and Lou her back. "I'm sorry, Jean," Michelle said. "We just worry about you."

That night, Jean waited by the door and greeted every single woman crossing the threshold.

The notification of inheritance arrived in the mail a few weeks after the nursing home had called to inform Uncle Carl had passed away in his sleep. Jean tucked the envelope into the inner pocket of her jacket and returned to the rest of the decidedly less exciting mail—vendor bills, advertisements, the latest Deneuve issue. The letter had detailed a rough estimate of the estate, a modest number nonetheless ending in a few uplifting zeroes, and she felt no need to share the news with any of her friends—or, rather, what she planned to do with the money once it would be deposited into her account: a college fund for Missy, plane tickets back and forth to Texas, a little something to help with Georgie and Mandy's baby expenses. Could you imagine the stares if she told them?

The door to her cramped office opened, and Nina leaned against it, sending in a cloud of strawberry perfume. Missy the third slipped through her legs, tail high up in the air, and jumped up on her desk, chirping happily. "Hey, girl," Jeanie muttered into her fur, soaking up the addicting scent of hours of lazing around in the sun. She scratched her head, stroked her back, the black and white coat plushy to the touch, and Missy's loud rumble gained traction as she rubbed her face up to Jean's hand.

"Jean?" Nina said. She was squirming in place, almost bouncing on her feet, like she had to physically constrain herself from floating away.

"What's up?"

"There's a new arrival for you. Two, even."

Jean didn't remember the first time she'd taken on the role, nor the second or the tenth. Neither did she recall all the individual names and faces of the women and girls she'd shown around, but each one had been as important to her as the other—most containing a splash of young Mary, a splash of young Jeanie. She would try to make them feel at home, direct them to the safest people in their age group, protect them from serial conquerors like the Tiffanies. More often than not, they'd be infatuated with her by the end of the night, unused to the freedom of love, high on the rush of being out and true, and her usually being the first openly gay woman to ever give a damn about them. She'd let them down gently, an art she'd perfected over the years, and would watch as the girls dove into whirlwind affairs, proclaiming eternal bonds after one night of good sex, and then crashed back down to earth when forever didn't turn out to be that long and they returned before her, sobbing that they needed a place to stay. They'd catch sight of her cat and break down over the pet they'd had to leave behind, and she would lead them to the back room where they could stay—just for a couple of nights.

She didn't think she had it in her to go through all of that just now.

She waved her hand at Nina. "Can you take care of it? I'm not in the mood."

But Nina finally gave in and let her smile climb to the ceiling.

"I think you're gonna wanna see this one, sweetie."

Mary didn't know if she was ready.

She left her stability behind at the New Mexico border, a mere echo in the rearview mirror, and witnessed the last remnants of her biblical assurance blow away into the blooming Arizona desert, crumbs of her motherhood left behind on a half-empty plate in a Flagstaff diner—so many miles between her and her son that it made her queasy. Crossing the California state line into Democratic territory, the ties binding her to her hometown reached their breaking point and snapped. She was as far removed from her origins as she'd ever been, and she couldn't even light a cigarette, not with her daughter in the passenger seat, asking if she could take up surfing.

"You can do this, mom."

They were standing in front of the building. The high windows were plastered with yellowed newspaper and tabloid pages, and the unlit neon sign above the door, spelling Missy's, was the only evidence that they'd found the right place.

She'd hoped that, with all these things she'd shed on this journey, she would've gained some courage in return. But here she was, at the far end of a San Francisco back alley, and her mind screamed to turn right back around and track down all the parts she'd scattered over four states, reassume her steady, familiar identity.

No longer a wife, no longer the picture-perfect mother, no longer a churchgoing Bible reader—and if she were to step over this threshold, would that make her a lesbian?

Missy, never lacking in bravery, tried the door handle. It was unlocked. "Come on," she said. "Jean's gonna be so happy."

The butterflies awakened and flew right from the colorful cherry trees and sycamores they'd passed on the road into her stomach, stretching and flapping their papery wings. She placed a hand on her belly to calm the little critters, took a deep breath, and followed her daughter in.

It was a little after dinner time. They'd stopped by a burger joint on their way in, Missy's idea, sensing that her mother had needed a moment to gather herself, a mirror and a sink to freshen up and erase the traces of three days of minimal sleep and near-constant driving. For months, she'd wondered what a lesbian bar would look like. She felt a little stupid now, because it turned out to be like any other: stools lined up along a gleaming bar crafted of reclaimed wood, the wall behind supporting three tiers of backlit shelving cluttered with a variety of liquors, spirits, and mixers, tables scattered around the hardwood floors, posters, pictures and banners lending the place a homely feel.

Despite the early hour, a few customers were in already. They all turned around to watch who'd come in, some curious, some guarded. Their table was littered with empty ice cream wrappers and sticks, and one of them, a big, square-shouldered woman with muscular arms coated in hideous tattoos, was still savoring her final bites, catching the melting drops in a cupped hand. Jeanie wasn't among them.

"Well, hello, there," said one with a pixie-like haircut, jumping from a stool with remarkable flexibility, "are you here to spread the word of God or to spread those pretty—"

"Tiff, for Christ's sake—there's a kid! Behave!"

Mary flushed crimson, well aware of how that question would've ended. Not for the first time, she thought she must have lost her mind to dive into this world, and bring her daughter along for that.

"Oh, right," Tiffany said, her gaze shifting to Missy, "Sorry, babies are not allowed in here."

"I'm no baby," Missy said. "And this is literally my bar. Pretty sure Jean would never kick me out."

Mary's heart fluttered—how proud she looked, this daughter of hers, comfortably claiming a place she'd never set foot in, all because of this wonderful woman named Jean, who knew exactly what to do to make a hurting girl feel seen. Maybe it was a good thing that Sheldon had stayed behind for now. Lord knew Missy's time in the spotlight was long overdue.

"Oh my god!"

A short woman in a pink crop top leaped up from her chair, squealing in excitement, and ran around to attack them with a quick, giggling hug, her strawberry perfume lingering. "Don't you see who they are?" she said to her friends. "Oh my god, I need to get Jean—"

"Not so fast, Nee-Nee."

Finished with her ice cream, the big woman wiped her fingers on a napkin. She crumpled it into a ball and tossed it on the table, then swaggered over on steel-toed boots, hiking up her cargo pants. Missy, she flashed a smile at, silvery with fillings, but by the time she was sizing up Mary, she'd crossed her arms, chewing on her tongue. Her gaze dropped to Mary's chest, and she was about to raise hell when the woman carelessly lifted a finger and pointed at her necklace, tilting her chin. "You here to stay?"

Mary had meant to take it off. She'd been working up to the moment since the day she'd sat her twins down and asked them to move to California with her—each time she'd caught the golden glint in the mirror, it'd felt like too much too soon, and earlier, in a fast food bathroom, she'd been so jumpy with nerves she'd forgotten all about it. Now, she stared at the near stranger watching her with raised eyebrows, like a dragon guarding treasure in one of Sheldon's stories, and she swept her hair aside with barely trembling hands, reached for the clasp, and unhooked it, just like that. And just like that, she offered the necklace up for the woman to take. "You can keep that," she said. "I won't be needing it no more."

She heard Missy gasp as the dragon accepted the payment, tucking it in her breast pocket, and she watched it disappear with the twinge of regret that accompanied any parting with an old friend. She still intended to reshape her relationship with God, but this symbolization of the failings of her marriage had no place in that. Too many lies tainted the yellow gold, dulled its shine.

Satisfied, the woman granted her a smile as well. "Welcome," she said. "The name's Stacey. We spoke on the phone once."

Stacey extended a hand, and Mary shook it, a jolt of realization coursing through her as she became acutely aware of the fact that she was touching another lesbian in a lesbian bar in liberal San Francisco. Another woman who had made out and slept with other women, and had likely been doing so for the past few decades. She looked so normal introducing herself to Missy, and when she asked: "Do you have any bags? Give me your keys; Lou and I will get them for you," Mary watched in a daze as the two marched off to where she'd told them she'd parked her car. She'd seen photos, of course, but it was vastly different to seeing them in the flesh, so ordinarily human. The delicate thing called Nina, the one who'd hugged them, could be any other typical woman you bumped carts with at the supermarket—rattling on and on about how Mary was even prettier than in the pictures, how she was so happy that Missy had come along, how they could find her a local baseball team if she wanted.

She'd spent the past few nights in roadside motels, barely sleeping, the ceilings closing in on her—she was too uptight, too uncool. How would she ever fit in with this crowd of brave women unafraid to live loud, authentic lives? And then, to find this touch of Southern comfort and care upon arrival... If this was a place of great evil, evil had never tasted so sweet. Community, it seemed, was not limited to the church premises.

But she hadn't driven more than twenty-five hours just to experience the community. The butterflies flitted in circles, and she wished Nina would remember her earlier offer to call Jeanie. As if sensing her jitters, the only woman still remaining seated, the one she recognized as Jeanie's ex Michelle, stood up, swooping her long braids over her shoulder, and placed a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "Give the woman some room to breathe, Nina," she said, her voice quietly tranquil in comparison. "Why don't you go and get Jean?" And finally, Nina bolted to a door behind the bar on high-platformed espadrilles, facepalming herself on the way, and Mary was about to see her better half again.

Her heart skipped numerous beats at a time. She barely dared to blink, clinging to the point where Nina had disappeared, only vaguely registering Michelle saying, "You've come a long way, huh?", and Missy answering something about boring interstates, and then —

The cat padded around the bar first, tail up high. It stopped in its tracks when it noticed the visitors and looked back at its owner, seeking reassurance.

Then came Jeanie. Dressed in a muscle tank and jeans, coiling curls partially contained by a paisley black-and-white bandana, her hunched shoulders straightened up as she caught sight of the newcomers, her lips opening in a silent gasp. All the anxiety Mary had hoarded on the journey here, the gnawing insecurities and nail-biting worries, fell away, creating space for the butterflies to spin and soar, for her pulse to pick up, for her breathing to halt. She could not go back now and never wanted to, the concluding moments of her former life exiting quietly through the open window. Mesmerizingly slowly, an irresistible smile built on Jeanie's sun-tanned freckled face, revealing slightly crooked front teeth, and at long last, Mary had broken out of a red dollar-store box, ready to live.

Brown eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the world stilled. Not a bone in her body that begged to flee back to Texas now. Jeanie was feeling, Jeanie was a beating heart and a tingling peace. It'd been like that ever since she'd craned her neck to take in a girl perched in a tree, and she suspected it would be like that for a long, long time to come.

"Hi," she said, suddenly shy.

"Hi," Jeanie said too, just as breathless.

This distance between them was shorter than in weeks, and yet, bridging it felt like crossing an ocean, her feet scarcely recalling how this thing called walking worked. She stopped still right in front of Jeanie, the critters in her stomach going country wild, drinking in every freckle, every line and curve, every curl spilling down from under the bandana, Jeanie's gaze never lifting.

"Now," Mary said, once she'd recovered her voice, "funny thing. Turns out I wasn't really done practicing with you."

In all the times she'd played this moment out in her head, rehearsing what to say, this had never crossed her mind, and she could kick herself for blurting out something so unimaginatively shallow.

But Jeanie glowed. "Is that so?" she said, a smirk hidden in the question. "Don't you think we're getting a little too old for that? How about we just..." She trailed off, reached out for her, tentatively, like she was scared her hand would go right through her—another barely audible gasp when she came in contact with warm skin, a dream realized, and Mary leaned into her touch, shuddered as Jeanie traced her jaw with featherlight tenderness, her thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. "...go for it?" she muttered, and Mary couldn't think straight anymore.

Because if there was one thing she knew dang well, it was how Jeanie Lucas looked at a girl before she went in, and this was it: brown eyes lowering to her lips, breathing faltered, a rosy flush blossoming on her cheeks. This time, however, she got there first—done wasting precious seconds fretting over other people's opinions, so entirely out of her control, she wrapped her arms around Jeanie to pull her close, belly against belly, all warmth and oncoming rain on a spring day, and poured every ounce of missing, every ounce of fluttering, every ounce of belonging into a mind-shattering kiss that sent planes plunging towards the earth—landing safely onto solid ground. Never until now had she put her love on display like this, exposing the full picture, these resplendent bits and pieces she'd kept hidden for so long. So brilliant was this world, when your entire self stepped into its light.

Someone wolf-whistled. Someone cheered. Someone clapped.

Surely as red as a fire hose, she let the support wash over her, reveling in Jeanie's smile against her lips, Jeanie cupping her face, fingers drifting into her hair, flush against her—Lord, she would never tire of this. Sparkling seas of time beckoned her, wide open with possibility, and she let go, knowing it wouldn't be the end.

The room was spinning, Jeanie's eyes still glued onto hers, wide in wonder.

"You're here," she said in a quivering voice, like she still couldn't believe her senses.

Mary wanted to say something, assure her that yes, she was here, and she was here to stay if she wanted her, only all she could emit was a sighing, relieved laugh.

Jeanie turned to Missy, equally amazed. Her daughter, decidedly less confident than earlier, was worrying her lip, ducked into herself, the sleeves of her flannel pulled down to her fingertips. But Jeanie, with her big, loving heart, rushed towards her and enveloped her in the tightest, bone-crushing hug, saying, "You're here," and Mary pushed down a sob at the sight, at Missy's teary, beaming smile. For someone who'd grown up without a mother, who claimed to not know the first thing about parenthood, she sure as shooting was doing a better job than Mary, attending to these vulnerable, wounded little girls, sewing the first stitch across the gaping gash her dad's abandonment had inflicted on her.

Jeanie sniffled, draping an arm around Missy's shoulder, roping Mary in with the other, squishing them together in a chaos of hair, a semblance of family—"I've missed you so much," Jeanie murmured, meant for both their ears, and Mary and Missy's words tripped over each other as they tried to express how it hadn't been the same without her, how Mary liked herself better with Jeanie to balance her.

They remained like that until heavy footsteps and grunts announced the return of Stacey and Lou, Stacey carrying two suitcases, a backpack and a shoulder bag, Lou's face hidden behind two teetering cardboard boxes. "You want these upstairs?" she asked Jeanie in passing, and Jeanie just nodded, speechless, as Nina opened a door that led to a narrow staircase, and the pair stomped up like it was as easy as lifting an empty laundry basket.

"You're really here to stay?"

For a second, ten-year-old Jeanie shone through, marveling at the flashy red box cradled in her palm, a gift so insufficient for the wonder she was.

"If you reckon we'd fit in," Mary said, and Jeanie let out a watery, joyous laugh, pressing a kiss onto her cheek that bowled the butterflies over.

"I reckon you'll fit in just fine," Jeanie said, a hint of Southern twang, and winked at Missy, who giggled. "Where's Sheldon? Couldn't convince him to live so close to the beach?"

Missy's grin was a little too wide. "He's with Meemaw," she said, "the weirdo didn't want to leave in the middle of the semester."

Jeanie snickered. "Bet your mom was thrilled to take him in, wasn't she?"

"Oh, don't start."

She'd had to promise her mother all sorts of things to convince her, an unlimited supply of plane tickets for visits, free accommodation, and, most importantly, that she would research possibilities for Sheldon to switch to Caltech as soon as possible. When push came to shove, though, and Georgie had loaded the last boxes into the Mercury, her mother had simply said, "Go on and git, and don't you dare turn around," an arm around Sheldon as they waved them off.

A jumble of footsteps came trudging down the stairs, and Stacey and Lou reappeared. Stacey, panting slightly, wiped her forehead with a tattooed forearm and pointed her thumb to the back. "All set. Left your keys on the counter, Mary. And Jean—let me know if you need help painting the spare for the kid. You like blue, Missy? Got some leftover blue from a job last week. Should be enough for two layers."

"I like blue," Missy said, her eyes glittering.

Mary's heart swelled. "Thank you," she said, "that's mighty kind of you."

The difference in Jeanie was astonishing—no longer hunched over like a turtle retreated in its shell, but standing tall and proud, almost flying, with a smile that could stretch all the way from Texas to California. That Mary had ever been so selfish as to keep her in the prison that was their hometown, that could almost be called a sin. She watched in wonder, as Jeanie went, "Oh, wait! Guys, guys. So, this is Missy, the Missy," and did Missy's heart melt as quickly as hers? As Michelle said, fondly exasperated, "We know, Jean," and Tiffany added, "Yeah, you've shown us a whole Sears catalog of pictures."

As Jeanie turned to Mary, smiling all smugly, took her hand, and kissed it for everyone to see. "And this," she said, "is my gorgeous girlfriend."

The butterflies broke loose then. They soared over their heads and rose to the ceiling in the vibrant, glittering colors of the rainbow.

She wondered if anyone from Medford would still recognize her. This new Mary in her girlfriend's T-shirt, a can of Dr. Pepper in hand, the muffled beat of the music downstairs drowning out the sounds of cars passing by on the nearby road, the echoes of animated chatter in the patio traveling up through the open window. She'd caught sight of herself in the mirror earlier, had startled at the radiant face beaming back at her, so familiar, mascara smudged, hair tousled, neck bare. Still the same woman on the outside—the inside an entirely different story.

The floor creaked. She turned her head. Jeanie, barefoot, her curls swept aside in a beautiful mess, once again bringing her heart to life, thrumming in her chest.

Jeanie smiled, full of loving wonder.

Mary smiled back, that love and wonder rushing through her bloodstream.

This new Mary spun around on dance floors bursting with women-loving women, her skin clammy against her lover's, jumping and singing and laughing. This new Mary noticed a group of other girls glowering and gossiping and tugged her girlfriend closer to bedazzle them with a show-stopping kiss, far too fiery for company, and dished out sugary sweet smiles as she led Jean up the stairs, meek as a lamb. This new Mary meant for everyone to be lock, stock, and barrel sure that Jeanie Lucas was off the market and hers forever. This new Mary undressed her woman like a parched traveler in desperate search of water and didn't hold back, drinking from the spring till they were both fat and sassy, naked and sated. This new Mary didn't think about eternal damnation as she took a hit from a cigarette and shared it with the dreamlike vision beside her.

She liked this new Mary. She felt younger than in years, the future wide open before her, so much to want and do.

But not now. Now, Jeanie wrapped her arms around her, pulled her close, and pressed her lips to her temple.

She might be a little late to the party, but at least she'd finally made it there.