iii.

“I feel like we have this fight all the time,” Tiffany says, “and I’m tired of it.”

Jessica’s mouth twists. “Sorry I can’t be the perfect girlfriend you’re clearly looking for.”

“I don’t want ‘the perfect girlfriend,’ I want you! I just wish you would expect a little less and try a little harder.”

“I’m trying as hard as I can,” Jessica says, her voice coming out very small, “and if it’s not enough for you—”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it.”

Tiffany sighs, something not just heavy but weighed down, but then her eyes soften. “Jessica,” she says, and the use of her full name makes Jessica jolt like Tiffany had physically shocked her. “You’re the one I want, not some imaginary perfect girlfriend. I just—want to know you’re willing to put in a little more effort. I am. I think you’re worth it, that we’re worth it. I just want to know you feel the same way.”

Jessica’s throat closes up on her, but she manages to whisper, “I am. I do.”

Suddenly, Tiffany breaks into a smile, like the sky clearing after a thunderstorm, the dark clouds making way for sunshine. “That almost sounds like a wedding vow.”

“Would you? Marry me?”

“Are you proposing to me?” Tiffany laughs.

“Well, it’d be a terrible proposal considering I have no ring or grand romantic gesture but. Would you?”

“You know I don’t need all of that,” Tiffany says softly, eyes intent on her. “I never have.”

Jessica swallows. “What do you need then?”

“You,” Tiffany says simply. “That’s what I’ve always needed.”

Jessica doesn’t know what to say, and so she opens her arms, and Tiffany almost falls into them, like she had been off balance and had found her centre of gravity in Jessica. Or maybe that’s just how Jessica feels, that Tiffany is her equilibrium, her starting and ending point.

“I’m never going to suggest that we just give up,” Tiffany says, slightly muffled against Jessica’s shoulder. “And don’t you dare suggest that either. Don’t you dare do that.”

Jessica can only nod, and she feels like the jerky motion is probably making Tiffany feel uncomfortable, but all she does is tighten her grip on Jessica’s shirt, like she’s holding on during a bumpy ride. Maybe that is what she’s doing.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica says, almost too quietly to be heard.

“I am too,” Tiffany says, just as quietly, or well, almost.

“I’ll try harder.”

Tiffany draws back slightly from their embrace to tip her forehead against Jessica’s. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” she murmurs, one of her hands sliding to the back of Jessica’s neck to pull her in.