Carte Blanche, page 42
“How do you know he’s a bachelor?” Sunny asked.
Phineas raised an eyebrow, fiddling with one of his many necklaces. “Earl was admiring the view a bit too hard. Took a risk, but I clocked him right.”
“That’s impressive actually,” Jazz said, jealous that he’d picked up on it so quickly. She, Mimi, and Teddy had all pined for the better part of a year, before Ed finally lost his patience and forced the conversation.
Phineas waved off the compliment. “I’m an extroverted lawyer with social anxiety, if there’s something I’m good at, it’s getting people talking. I may be a walking disaster, but I am useful sometimes. Right Dicky?”
“You contain multitudes, Phin,” Richard muttered dryly.
“You okay, Beautiful?” Jazz murmured to Blanche. “You’ve been quiet.”
Blanche nodded. “Just processing.”
“You want to talk about it?”
They shook their head, forcing a smile as Katie brought their plates to the table. “Later.”
Jazz was securing her bonnet over her locs, when she realized Blanche had been staring at the bed for longer than necessary, their shoulders hunched tight around their chest. The sash of their bathrobe was twisted around their hands.
“You okay, Beautiful?” Jazz asked, sliding her arms around their waist with a kiss on their cheek. The rose-colored silk warmed quickly under her palms. Blanche was always so classy; Jazz’s boxers and ancient youth group t-shirt made her feel very underdressed.
Blanche leaned into her. “Just overthinking. As usual.”
“What about?”
“Everything. But in particular…” They gestured to the double bed with a patchwork quilt spread smoothly over it. “I haven’t slept with anyone—as in actual sleeping—in years.”
“Do you want me to take the floor?” Jazz offered, ignoring the twinge in her heart.
“Of course not!” Blanche swatted her hand. “I’m not going to kick Phin off the couch either. I just…what if I snore? What if I kick you? What if I have a nightmare and wake you?”
Jazz smiled into their hair, relieved that their worries weren’t about her, but for her. “I probably won’t get much sleep anyway. New places are hard to relax in. It took me like a week after I moved in with you to actually sleep through the night.”
“What? Why didn’t you say anything?” Blanche asked.
“Because I’m too proud to admit any weakness,” Jazz teased. “But also, what would you have done if I had told you?”
“I don’t know,” Blanche huffed. “But I would have tried to help.”
“Of course you would have, Beautiful.” Jazz kissed their cheek again. “Now, what side of the bed do you sleep on? Please say the left, because I like the right.”
Blanche laughed. “I don’t really have a side, so left is fine.”
“How do you not have a side of the bed? You sleep in the middle?” Jazz untucked the top of the quilt and wiggled her way under it. The bedding pulled tight over her bare legs, just the way she liked it.
Blanche disrobed, revealing a matching silk nightie under their bathrobe. “For the most part, yes. Daisy didn’t want us to get complacent, so we would switch it up. Left one night, right the next, perhaps we’d sleep stacked in the middle or upside down.”
“With all due respect, was Daisy a psychopath?”
Blanche snorted as they climbed into bed, fanning their long blond hair out over the pillow as they got comfortable. “I have many theories about what was going on in her head, but it’s all speculation. All I know for certain is that she had a tough life.”
Trying to get comfortable on the stiff mattress and dusty linens, Jazz hesitated, wondering if Blanche would be a cuddler. Before she could ask, Blanche rolled onto their side. Away from her.
Her heart fell. Guess not. Jazz breathed through the lump in her throat. They’re not rejecting you, they just don’t want to be…close to you. Jazz scolded herself for taking it so personally, but she couldn’t even rationalize her hurt away.
“Do you want to keep the light on?” Blanche asked.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” Jazz replied, her voice husky.
Blanche stiffened and rolled back over, their knees bumping against Jazz’s. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jazz forced a smile, grasping her amethyst. “You’d think I’d have outgrown my fear of the dark by now. I appreciate you thinking of me.”
“Jazz.” Their eyes narrowed.
She huffed. She’d just been telling herself she needed to be better about speaking up for herself, so she wouldn’t end up like her brother who accepted the bare minimum from everyone. Or like Phineas, who had a whole second persona ready to go when he needed it. “Your emotional well-being is the priority this weekend, not my immature needy ass.”
“And what does your wonderful ass want to be immature and needy about?”
Jazz sucked her teeth before whispering, “Can we snuggle?”
Blanche’s cheeks burned bright pink. “Did you think I don’t want to snuggle with you?”
“It’s silly, I know—”
“No, it’s not.”
“I just…this is our first time sharing a bed, and I dunno.” Jazz groaned. “I guess I thought we’d make out a little, spoon or some shit. But then you wanted to go right to sleep, and it felt like rejection, but you’re totally entitled to go right to sleep, because you had an emotionally draining day, and tomorrow is probably going to be worse, so of course you should focus on yourself. Because I am here to support you—not the other way around—and now you’re listening to me verbally vomit everything instead of processing your own shit and—”
Blanche silenced her with a kiss, their soft lips warm against hers.
Jazz sighed with relief, then with pleasure as Blanche rolled her onto her back, wedging a leg between her thighs and bracketing her with their arms. The mint of their toothpaste was sharp on her tongue, a delightful contrast to the floral aroma of their hair between her fingers.
“Beautiful,” Blanche kissed down her jaw and neck, “anything you want, you only have to ask.” Their hand traced down her body to grip her thigh and pull it around their hip.
Jazz groaned, fingers tightening around their hair, as their thigh pressed between her legs. Her hips bucked involuntarily.
“That’s it, Sweetheart,” Blanche cooed, pressing their thigh against her harder. “Take what you need.”
“Are you—” A whine escaped her and her hips rocked again as they cupped her breast, thumbing a nipple through her shirt. To think that after all these years of crushing on Blanche, the months of pining as their roommate, the weeks of hesitant kisses that make her heart clench, she was here, dry humping their leg, at Blanche’s encouragement. “Is this okay?”
“Give me some credit, I will slow us down if I need to.” Blanche dipped to devour her mouth again, until Jazz was dizzy and panting. “But I can’t let you worry yourself sick thinking I don’t want you, when that is the farthest thing from the truth. I thought I should give you space here, since this is new for us, and our friends are on the other side of the wall.”
Jazz huffed. “It’s almost like we should talk about things.”
Blanche snorted in laughter, pulling her tighter against them and kissing her neck. “Exactly. Why are we like this?”
Jazz wrapped her arms around them, tightening her thigh around their hip to pull them closer. Their erection was pressing into her belly. She nipped their earlobe. “Can we keep going?”
“How far do you want to go?” Blanche rolled their hips, thigh pressing firmly against Jazz’s pussy again. Pleasure shot up her spine in a shiver.
Jazz heard the hesitation in their question. Even though they were present and encouraging now, they were nervous. And they were right—Phineas was in the next room on the couch, and the walls were thin. Her original plan of making out and spooning was still the right call. “More of this. Clothes on. If you want.”
“I can do that. You’re a glorious diversion from the storm cloud in my head.” Blanche smirked, before capturing her mouth again in one of their dizzying, soul-devouring kisses.
Thrilled to be their distraction, Jazz kissed them back eagerly, tongue massaging theirs. Her hand dragged down their spine to cup their ass, preening at Blanche’s resonant groan.
Blanche’s lips and teeth found a spot on her neck that made Jazz clap a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry as pleasure coursed through her, sending her toes curling.
“You have to be quiet, Beautiful,” Blanche murmured in her ear. “Can you do that for me?”
“Can you?” Jazz rolled her hips again, smirking at the whimper against her neck. She always enjoyed kissing with Blanche, but this was the first time they’d indulged this much. Blanche normally pulled back when things got this hot and heavy. But if they were taking things this far, perhaps they needed the escape from their head. Jazz was honored that Blanche trusted her enough to be that safe person they could turn to.
Bucking her hips, Jazz twisted them over so she straddled them, pinning their hands above their head.
Blanche’s cheeks darkened again, their green eyes glassy. Their tongue swiped across their lower lip as they panted, chest heaving in their silk nightie.
“Is this okay?” Jazz circled her hips, relishing in the way Blanche bit their lip as she did. Her boxers were soaked and slick against her, pussy clenching as she found a spot against Blanche’s hip that sent sparks through her belly.
Blanche nodded, still feverish. “Do what makes you feel good, Beautiful.”
“Tell me if it gets to be too much.” Jazz waited for their nod before rocking against them slowly, examining their face as their brow knotted and their breath quickened. She sighed as tension climbed up her spine and trembled through her legs. The firm pressure against her clit rolled through her again and again.
Jazz bit her lip to muffle her groan as Blanche surged up to capture her nipple between their teeth, through the cotton of her sleep shirt. If she’d known this would be the first time Blanche made her come, she would have dressed sexier. “I’m close.”
“Keep going. I want to see.” The rasp humming against her nipple sent her over the edge, spasms tearing through her body as she collapsed over Blanche; they wriggled their hands from her grasp to wrap around her waist. “You are so gorgeous, Jazz.”
Jazz buried her face into their neck. “What do you need?”
“Oh.” Blanche blushed scarlet again. “I uhh…I’m good.”
Blinking in confusion, Jazz pursed her lips. “You came already? Or you don’t want to?”
“Both? I had a couple of small ones. And honestly, that’s more than I can usually manage. My window for a big one has passed.”
“What?”
Blanche huffed with an embarrassed smile. “I have a dick, but I don’t come the way most people with penises do. Since I don’t have testicles, it’s more like a large clit in functionality? But kind of a lackluster one. And without Viagra, my erections don’t last long. I had a couple of small orgasms after you rolled us over—because that was incredibly hot—but I think that’s all I’m going to get.”
“Sad. I didn’t even get to enjoy it.” Jazz grinned into their neck, relieved that even if she couldn’t make Blanche fall apart completely, she’d done enough to make them feel good.
“I would argue that you did enjoy it.” Blanche smirked as they rolled them over, pressing one last kiss against her lips. “Can you…” They blushed again. “Can you be the big spoon?”
Jazz chuckled, her heart melting at how sweet Blanche was in private, when only Jazz got to see. “I would be honored to be your big spoon.” As they climbed back under the covers, she shifted so Blanche could curl up in her arms. With a kiss to their spine, she murmured, “Good night, Beautiful.”
“Good night Jazzy.” They sighed contentedly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad we’re both here.” Jazz stiffened as Blanche’s feet pressed against her shins. “Even if your feet are freezing. What the fuck, get those away from me!”
Blanche giggled and trapped her calf between two blocks of ice. Jazz laughed and let them, relishing in Blanche’s joy. It only served to make them both laugh harder, shushing each other for being too loud. Teddy always teased Jazz for being a furnace; they’d warm up eventually.
Saturday, November Thirteenth
Chapter Thirty-Six
Blanche
It was gone.
Not all of it. The barn was still standing, and the wooden fence surrounding the commune still ringed the property. But all of the houses and huts the Family had built were gone. Not even a pile of bricks from the chimney, or the limestone from the foundations remained. Just evenly mowed grass and gravel that had been dumped for a makeshift parking lot. A half dozen pickups, loaded with water tanks and marked with some corporate logo on the side, were parked in the late morning sunshine.
“Is this the right place?” Sunny asked, looking around as she pulled her beanie over her ears. “Or is there another burned-out tree around here that we’re looking for?”
“This is it.” Blanche couldn’t tear their eyes away from the barn. They swallowed the tangle of conflicting emotions choking them. “The main house was there,” they pointed to a clearing amid the oak trees nearby, “And the meeting hall was there.” What was now a gravel parking pad was where Blanche had been prayed over for hours. Dozens of hands had forced them to lay prone, while the Family wished for their human baby back, instead of the changeling the Trolls had left.
“Where did you live?” Phineas asked, buttoning his coat up to his chin, The white faux-fur ruff of his trench hid his beard. “The main house, or somewhere else?”
The laugh that left Blanche was heavy, sardonic. They pointed to the barn. “The hay loft.”
“Oh, damn. Did all the kids stay there?”
Blanche shook their head, barely bothered by the cold seeping in through their thin jacket. “The other kids weren’t allowed to talk to me. Some of them did at school, but not when we were at home.”
“What? Why?”
“I was cursed.” To avoid more of Phineas’s questions, they took off toward the barn, ignoring the nerves roiling in their stomach with each step closer to their past. The doors were locked, but Blanche peered through the windows. It looked much the same, as all old barns do. Gray-brown dust covered everything. Old cars and machinery cluttered up the empty space, where stalls had existed long before Blanche’s lifetime. Not the same cars and machinery as when they were a child, but it felt the same.
The Family had farmed, but never had livestock to necessitate clearing the junk out of the barn. Instead, there’d been goat and pig pens, chicken coops, and a smokehouse to cure the side of beef they’d get from the cattle farmer down the road. Blanche’s home had been used to store hay and animal feed, the downstairs a garage for tractors and machinery.
“You okay?” Sunny asked, peering into the window next to them.
With a shrug, Blanche walked around to try the side door under the lean-to, but a heavy padlock cut that short. They looked around for a stepladder or something to climb—wondering if it was worth risking arrest to break in through the window, when they weren’t even sure if they wanted to go in—when a deer path through the woods caught their eye.
It was still there. A shiver trembled through them; Blanche pulled their jacket around them tighter. They’d walked this path hundreds of times. This one had brought them to the only good memories of their childhood. But it was also the path Blanche had been on when they’d resolved to leave forever.
They were a few feet into the woods when Jazz caught up to them; a stick snapping under her foot made Blanche flinch. “I know you probably want quiet, but is it okay if I come with you? This place is giving me bad vibes.”
Blanche’s nerves soothed somewhat. Jazz was so understanding, so supportive, yet still so endearingly her. They smiled. “Let’s go. I’m not going far.”
Zipping up her puffer jacket, Jazz wordlessly followed Blanche down the narrow path, climbing over fallen logs. Dormant underbrush snagged their jeans with each step. Eventually, they came to a clearing, with a fork in the path that split around a boulder. Blanche looked around, until they spotted a tree with bark scarring over an old wound.
“This is where my Papa shot at me.” The burl was rough under their hand. “He said he was aiming at the wolf, but then why did the bullet hit the tree right above my head?”
He was trying to scare the wolf off, Blanche had told themself at the time. Only to realize that maybe he was trying to scare off the changeling. He’d succeeded. Blanche frowned, wondering where Papa had gone, how long ago he’d left, if he regretted that day at all. Strange how the tree was still living, growing as if the trunk hadn’t exploded from the impact. Strange how Blanche was still living, growing older and wiser and happier, and the Family had been the one to fall apart.
They kept down the path, their anxiety growing about what they would see, or not see, once they were through the stand of trees. And what that would feel like. Maybe they should have taken an edible with breakfast. Already today, they’d remembered more unpleasant memories from their childhood than they’d had in two decades. Each one churned their stomach and squeezed their lungs.
But as the tree cover broke into a meadow, the little blue house still stood in the dale between two rolling hills. The squat, run down rambler, with the paint mostly peeled away from the graying wood siding, looked one bad storm away from caving in. The porch sagged under the weight of the roof and time.
Grandma Rose’s car was there. The one Chad had stolen after he’d found her body in front of the blaring TV, her coffee long since cold. The car he’d ditched when it ran out of gas in Marshall. He’d left it on the side of the road and hitchhiked. But someone—Papa most likely, since Mama wasn’t allowed to drive—had brought it back to the house and parked it where Grandma Rose always kept it.
