They’d agreed that buying a house in Florida wasn’t the easiest path for a queer couple, but it felt important to Grace to stay. This was her home. She wasn’t going to let some fuckers inpower ruin that for her. And so they’d agreed to stay in Florida, to support their community, to never give up the fight of making their home a safe space for all.
It wasn’t the waterfront condo she’d bought back when success still felt like armor. That place had gleamed, all glass and quiet, and no one visited. This house was messy already. Lived in. Beautiful in a way that made Grace’s chest ache with happiness and satisfaction.
And it had a pool. A feature that thrilled Grace and absolutely terrified Alix.
“I’m just saying,” Alix had insisted that morning, leaning over the edge with a skimmer. “If a gator crawls in here, you’re dealing with it.”
Grace had laughed so hard she nearly dropped the moving box she was carrying. “We live in a neighborhood, not the Everglades.” Statistically, it wasn’t likely that they’d find an alligator in the pool, but the possibility wasn’t zero, per se. It was much more likely they’d find a giant iguana swimming laps. She wouldn’t be telling Alix that, though.
“You say that,” Alix replied darkly, “but they’resneaky. Gators have Google Maps now.”
Grace raised her eyebrows in mock-offense. “And what aboutthisGator? Is she allowed in the pool?”
Alix pretended to consider. “Yes, but no swimsuits allowed.”
Grace laughed. “Shameless.”
Now, hours later, the sun was dropping low, painting everything in orange and rose gold. The last of their friends had collapsed onto lawn chairs and patio steps, the chaos of unpacking giving way to the sweet relief of doing nothing.
Phyllis was in the kitchen, loudly arguing with Connie about how much tequila belonged in a “Christmas margarita.”
Helen had arrived with a wool blanket folded carefully in tissue paper — a family heirloom, worn soft with age, its edgeshand-stitched in fading red thread. It was the same blanket she’d given her in Colorado.
“We have a tradition. Every woman in our family gets this blanket when she builds a home, to bring our family’s love and warmth into your life,” Helen had said earlier, pressing it into Grace’s arms. “Looks like it’s your turn.”
Grace had cried — of course she had. Then Alix had cried. Then Helen had cried because Alix cried, and the whole scene had devolved into a group hug interrupted only by Phyllis yelling, “Don’t cry on the fucking blanket, it’s wool!”
Now the blanket was draped over Grace’s legs as she sat on the porch swing, watching the last streaks of sunset fade over the tops of the palms.
Lola and Oscar were sitting cross-legged on the pool deck, arguing about the proper way to assemble a hammock. Ivy stood between them, sipping from a margarita and offering unhelpful but charming commentary.
Phyllis, meanwhile, had installed herself in one of the new Adirondack chairs, telling Helen and her mom a story that seemed to grow more dramatic with each retelling. Grace caught the words1974andsnowed in with a go-go dancer, followed by her mom choking on her drink.
Somewhere down the block, someone’s radio started playing “Snowed In With You.” The tinny melody drifted through the air like fate’s inside joke. Alix looked up from where she sat on the porch steps, head tilted toward the sound, and started laughing.
“Phyllis,” Alix called. “They’re playing your song!”
Phyllis raised her glass like royalty. “Residuals, baby.”
Grace watched Alix, her messy hair pushed back, catching the last of the light. Her legs were bare, her skin sun-kissed, her tattooed arms… well, those never failed to entice her. And even after months of basically living together between their two condos, the sight of her still caught Grace completely off guard.
“Stop staring at me,” Alix said without looking up.
“Can’t.”
Alix’s grin was lazy and content. “Good answer.”
Grace took another sip of her margarita — lime, cranberry, a salt rim that tasted like summer pretending to be winter. Christmas in Miami was always a contradiction: eighty degrees, palm fronds instead of pine, holiday lights tangled in tropical foliage. But this year, it felt exactly right.
Alix pulled her phone out of her pocket and leaned back on the steps, idly scrolling in the quiet moment. Grace caught the familiar blue-and-pink logo at the top of the screen and groaned.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Alix looked up, guilty. “What? I was just?—”
“Breakup Buddies?” Grace said, incredulous. “You still have this app?”
“It’s just muscle memory! I wasn’t— Okay, look, I was curious if they still send out the Tuesday affirmation notifications.”
