Page 96 of Obedience

‘What? Doctor Vincent? No, it’s my name, I—’

‘No. No, that’s not what I mean.’ Dylan reached forward, pinkie finger outstretched as she gently hooked it through Greta’s. ‘Partner. You said partner.’

‘Did I?’ Greta asked, looking genuinely flummoxed, though she knew, if she were honest, it was what she wanted to say.

During the painfully awkward exchange with Professor Andy, a quiet, tectonic shift had finally stilled Greta’s looping thoughts. It crystallised everything she already knew she wanted. Seeing the simple normalcy of Leila and Kate—the casual way Leila held her hand, the way Kate pressed into her side—held up a mirror to Greta’s own yearnings, to what she needed and was no longer willing to deny herself. It didn’t remind her of Muriel, or of what they had. It simply made her want this—here, now—with Dylan. The walls she had built with the hollow emptiness and isolation of grief didn't serve her any more. She was no longer willing or able to exist in the parallel paradigm of private agony, hidden desire and feigned public normalcy. She wanted to choose life; a life with Dylan.

‘Yeah,’ Dylan said, perhaps a bit too loudly. She lowered her voice and stepped fully into Greta’s space, interlacing their fingers. ‘Yeah, you did. Was it just so she’d talk to you about Mum?’

‘No. No! I—’

‘It’s okay if you meant it, you know,’ Dylan said softly.

‘Is it? I mean—I just…it hasn’t even been two weeks, has it? What was I thinking? I’m sorry I—’

‘It’s been longer than two weeks, Greta, I think you know that. That’s why it feels so easy and so right and so good. That’s why it rolled off your tongue, and you didn’t even notice.’ She cradled Greta’s face with both hands and pressed a kiss to her lips. ‘Anyway, two weeks is a long time in lesbian years.’ Greta huffed out a laugh. Dylan’s features softened, her smile fading as she looked at Greta properly. ‘Remember when you asked me at what point two people who can’t be together stop trying? We didn’t stop, did we? We didn’t stop… And now we can be together, why would we waste anymore time? We’ve wasted too much time.’ She kissed Greta again, soft and unhurried, inhaling deeply. Pulling away, Dylan canted her head, her hands still pressed onto Greta’s face. ‘You know, G, life is but the time frame of a ripe avocado… Too frigging short.’ Greta laughed again, shaking her head fondly as Dylan drew in another long breath, her gaze fixed on Greta’s. ‘This. Me and you… Us, it all feels more right than anything I’ve ever felt. Your heart let you say that word, G, so please don’t freak out. Don’t push against it, or run from it…from me. Just let yourself go with it.’ Dylan slid her arms around Greta’s waist, pulling her in close. ‘I don’t want anyone else, Greta, and I’m sorry if I sound like a prick, but I don’t want you to be with anyone else. The thought of that kills me.’ She leaned in to kiss her softly before pulling back to find her gaze. ‘I really like you,’ she whispered. ‘Fuck it, G. Let’s be a big old lezzie cliché. I want you to be my girlfriend.’

‘Jesus!’ Greta scoffed, leaning back in Dylan’s arms, palms flat on her chest. ‘Girlfriend?’

‘Well,’ Dylan laughed. ‘Partner is weird, isn’t it? Like are we a couple? Are we going into business together? Or doing some crime?’ Greta chuckled softly. ‘So, why don’t we meet in the middle?’ Dylan pouted, pulling on her best thinking face. ‘Girlfner,’ she offered with a smirk and satisfied head bob.

Greta burst out laughing, something she was doing a lot lately, and ran her hands down Dylan’s face. ‘Why are you like—’

‘I don’t know,’ Dylan interrupted with a smile and a gentle shake of her head.

She kissed Greta’s lips, then her cheek, then her ear, before pulling her into a fierce hug.

‘Okay, let me go now,’ Greta said, her voice sounding squeezed.

Dylan didn’t let go. She held her for a few more moments, before finally pulling away just enough to catch Greta’s eyes. Keeping her gaze fixed there, she directed her voice toward her mum. Margaret was sitting up in the hospital bed, a single tear rolling down her cheek. The words were trapped, but the sheer joy on her face as she watched her daughter falling in love communicated what she couldn’t.

Dylan’s lips curved into a wide smile. ‘Did you hear that, Margs? I’ve got a girlfner,’ she boasted.

Greta laughed, rolling her eyes at Margaret before turning back to Dylan for another kiss.

***

Dylan glanced down as Greta picked at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt dress. Lifting her hand from the gear stick, she reached over, covering Greta’s fidgeting fingers while keeping her other hand firmly on the steering wheel.

‘Don’t worry, G,’ Dylan said softly.

‘I’m not worried. Who said I was worried? I’m not—’

‘Okay. Alright. You’re clearly not worried,’ Dylan smiled over at her before returning her eyes to the road.

‘Do I look worried?’

Dylan chuckled. ‘Err. A bit. Yeah.’

As Dylan caged Greta’s hands with her own, Greta looked down at the tattoos, brushing her thumb over the art covering the back of Dylan’s hands and fingers. Her nerves induced a retched nausea as she traced the inked lines over her knuckles. She adored Dylan’s hands; the way they looked splayed against her own pale skin, the confident way they held and moved her. She loved the physical power of them and the emotional weight they carried, but a sudden, cold dread tightened in her chest. The fear of judgement she’d managed so well over the past day or so was back.

The feeling was made worse by the thought of her parents. Would they judge Dylan? Would they judge them? Greta tried to bury the thought but the worry gnawed at her, despite her knowledge that their love was unconditional and had always been devoid of judgement. Would Dylan’s age, status, her tattoos even, be the tipping point? Would the fact that she was so different to Muriel be the thing that made them question Greta’s decision-making, her sanity even? A wave of self-reproach washed away the thoughts as she brought Dylan’s hand to her mouth, inhaled the scent of her aftershave and kissed the back of it.

Dylan gave her an approving sideways glance and moved her hand to cup Greta’s bare thigh, with Greta’s on top, fingers intertwined. Dylan left it there for the rest of the journey, moving her hand only to change gear. Smiling as she refused to loosen her grip, Greta kept her hand clamped over Dylan's even as it moved. Every gear change became a clumsy, awkward dance between them, but Greta wouldn't break the contact.

***

‘I love that they’re only round the corner from me,’ Dylan said as they pulled onto the gravel driveway of Greta’s parents' house. ‘We’re practically neighbours. It’s nice.’ She pulled up the handbrake and switched off the engine, turning her attention to Greta, who was distractedly staring out of the window. ‘G?’ Dylan said softly, giving her thigh a squeeze.