Title: Caught Between the Sea and the Stars
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skye_writer
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 4,543 words
Summary: Ana spends an evening on the waves with her mermaid friend, Shae.
Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
getyourwordsout 's Build-A-Bingo challenge (prompt: "heatwave"). These characters are from my (currently unwritten) Little Mermaid Retelling. I hope you enjoy.
August has settled in the seaside town like a heavy winter coat. The thick, humid air sticks to people, drawing out sweat but offering no relief from it; what little wind comes off the ocean is not enough to keep anyone cool. Those who can afford personal breeze charms buy them in droves, never mind if the charm-maker is taking their cash in exchange for something that will work for two hours at most. The sky remains cheerfully blue all day, the few clouds far too thin and wispy to offer any respite from the sun. Even as the sunset paints the sky brilliant shades of orange and red, heat continues to rise off the pavement, turning the town into a slowly cooling oven. Tourists and locals alike make for the boardwalk and the pier, where proximity to the ocean offers at least a little respite.
Ana shoulders her way through the boardwalk crowds with practiced ease, her wavy hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The crowd thins considerably at the access to the pier, and she continues on until she reaches the public docks, where the few people are boat owners, all of whom know Ana by sight. She nods at those who greet her, and continues down the docks to her destination.
She’s spent all day at her job on a whale-watching boat, keeping tourists from leaning too far over the side rail and offering food to the seagulls. It’s thankless work, especially on a day like today, but she survived. She’s been looking forward to tonight. As she walks down the farthest-out dock, she touches a jagged shard of sea glass that hangs around her neck on a carefully-made chain.
Anyone with a talent for seeing thaumic energies would know at once what was hanging around Ana’s neck: a charm imbued not with human magic, but with the esoteric magic of the seas. Said person might draw any number of conclusions about Ana with that information, but the truth is simple enough: Ana has a best friend, and that friend is a mermaid.
Ana reaches the end of the last dock, where a barnacle-crusted ladder hangs down a few feet into the water. With one hand still on the sea glass charm, she kneels and knocks on the last plank of the dock five times.
A few moments later, the water bubbles loudly, and Ana peers down just as a pale face framed by yellow hair and iridescent scales pops above the surface.
The mermaid smiles carefully when her sea-green eyes meet Ana’s, and Ana grins back. Around her neck she wears a necklace that is the twin to Ana’s, the sea glass the same color, and jagged in a way that suggests the two pieces would fit together. She puts a webbed hand on the lowest visible rung of the ladder, and says, “I thought you were going to be late.”
“Good to see you, too, Shae,” Ana replies, laughing. “Look, it’s been a long day, all right?”
Shae laughs. “I wasn’t going to argue the point! I gathered as much from your message. Are you ready to swim?”
“Oh, I’ve been ready all day.” Ana stands and peels off her work shirt, then unties the strings down the side of her skirt, revealing her bathing suit underneath. She kicks off her sandals, then folds her clothes and lays them neatly on the edge of the dock, her sandals beneath them. “I had to stay in the ticket office the last half of my shift, which would have been fine if the AC hadn’t broken the other day. It’s been so hot here lately, it’s ridiculous.”
“Well, the ocean’s always cooler,” Shae says.
“That, my friend, is what I’m counting on.” She starts down the ladder, and Shae swims aside to give her room. As her legs and then her torso enter the water, Ana sighs in relief. “God, that feels good. And it’s better farther out, right?”
“As always,” Shae assures her. As Ana lets go of the ladder, Shae offers her hand, and Ana takes it. “Let’s swim?”
“Let’s,” Ana agrees.
And without another word, Shae tugs her away from the dock, and together they set out for deeper waters.
Their destination this evening, like many other evenings, is the boundary stone, a lonely rock that juts out of the ocean about ten yards north-northeast of the town’s main pier. The stone is avoided by seabirds despite its closeness to the shore, for it serves as a magical anchor of sorts. The local merfolk village and the thaumic studies department of the local college use the stone as a boundary marker. It defines the influence of their opposing magics, and anchors that separation in earth and sea. As far as Shae and Ana are concerned, though, it’s a perfect place for a human girl and her mermaid friend to enjoy each other’s company.
As the sun makes its way to the horizon, Shae and Ana talk about their time apart. It’s been four days since they last saw each other, which seems like an eternity. Ana complains a little about her job, and Shae listens and makes comments here and there. Ana alternates between treading water beside Shae, and sitting up on the rock, her feet in the water. Shae stays in the water; they’re not so far from the pier that they can’t be seen, and sightings of merfolk always tend to draw curious eyes.
Eventually, the sun sets beyond the horizon, and the ruddy sky darkens to a bluish gray. The stars are starting to appear, slightly drowned out by the proximity of the town and its lights. The brightest of them are peeking out, though, looking down on Shae and Ana as they float near the boundary stone.
Shae steals a glance at Ana, admiring her dark profile in the dying light. They have been friends since they were children, when Shae saved Ana from a riptide, and the human news channel did a story about it. They practically grew up together, and for all that they are from utterly different worlds, Shae has loved her as a sister for all that time.
But it’s only in the last year that Shae has realized that her affection has become coupled with attraction. She loves Ana, yes, but those feelings have grown more complicated, more like the romantic love that humans can never seem to speak about directly. For all that it is impossible, Shae loves her.
(It is not impossible; that is perhaps the wrong word. There are ways for merfolk to assume human form, and possibly vice versa, but Shae does not know them yet. It is advanced magic, much more advanced than the magic she is currently learning from her village shaman. And so it might as well be impossible.)
Shae has not told Ana about this. She has barely told anyone at all. (Trishkel the shaman knows, and has told her she is acting exceedingly human about this, which Shae cannot deny.) She’s afraid. She doesn’t want to lose Ana as a friend if her feelings aren’t returned. And even if Ana did love her in the same way, Shae does not want her friend forced to choose between two worlds, when one contains the only family Ana has left.
And so she says nothing, and admires Ana in spare moments, when she will not be noticed.
“I wish we could see more stars out here,” Ana says quietly. Below the surface, her hand brushes Shae’s, and Shae takes it.
“Me, too.” Shae squeezes her hand, and Ana squeezes back. “They’re more visible out by the village, but…”
“It’s too dangerous for me to swim that far from shore, I know.” She sighs a sigh Shae knows well; this is a discussion they’ve had far too many times.
“Yes,” Shae says.
They float silently for a few moments, then Ana says, “Maybe I should save up and buy a kayak or something. I could paddle out to the village and we could stargaze out there.”
Shae smiles, though she knows Ana can’t see it. “That sounds nice.”
More silence. Shae glances at Ana again. Her profile is backlit by the lights on the shore, a slightly scattered silhouette. The long, perfect slope of her nose drops off like a cliff, and the full curves of her lips look like gentle waves below that height. She’s lovely, Shae thinks. As always, she’s lovely.
She squeezes Ana’s hand again, and returns her gaze to the sky.
“Did I tell you about that time I saw all the stars?” Ana asks.
It isn’t really a question, because Ana has told this story before, but Shae replies, “I can’t remember. Tell it again and refresh my memory.”
So Ana begins her tale, talking about driving cross-country with her parents and her brother, about being twelve years old and bored by the endless plains outside her window. The second day of the trip saw them through the desert. Her father kept driving into the night, and Ana couldn’t sleep. Finally, close to midnight, her father pulled off the interstate, parking the car in a dirt turnoff close to the highway’s entrance.
Her brother and mother were both asleep, but Ana asked quietly why her father had stopped. “I need to look at something else for a few minutes,” he said. “Why don’t we step outside and look together.”
They were in the middle of the desert, far, far away from any human towns or even a fueling station. Ana followed her father out of the car and joined him to lean against the back bumper. The redness of the taillights rendered the shadows deep and flat on her father’s face. He smiled at her, and pointed up. “Take a look.”
Ana looked, and she gasped.
The sky was full of stars. The cloudy line of the galaxy towered up from the horizon, giving the sky depth and distance like she had never seen back home.
“I saw every star,” Ana says. “And all the planets, too. There were so many of them, the sky could barely hold them all. And—Daddy put his arm around my shoulder, and he held me, and we looked at the stars until his eyes could see the road again.” Her voice is thick, the words wobbly, and Shae knows without looking that Ana’s eyes are full of tears.
She lets go of Ana’s hand, and puts her arm loosely around Ana’s shoulders. “Hey,” she says, “I’m here, all right? I’m—I’m here.”
Ana squeezes her eyes shut, her breaths long and shaky. Shae sees her look up, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying, Shae knows, to dispel her tears. “It’s been three years,” she whispers. “Three years, and—and I still miss them, and it hurts, and—why does it still hurt so much?”
“Because they were your parents,” Shae answers. “Because you loved them, and you still love them. And missing people when they’re gone is… what happens.”
“I know.” Ana sniffles, and reaches one hand up to wipe her nose and rub at her eyes. “I know.” For a moment, she leans into Shae’s shoulder, and Shae dares to pull her a little closer. But then she mutters, “Dammit,” and pulls out of the embrace, moving to climb out of the water, back onto the boundary stone that marks the division between their worlds.
Shae folds her arms on the rock beside her, and looks up at her friend. “You all right?”
Ana tucks her legs against her chest, propping her chin on her knees, but says nothing.
“Thank you for telling me that story again, by the way,” Shae says. “It gets better every time I hear it.”
Ana turns her head to meet Shae’s eyes. “Yeah?”
Shae smiles. “Yeah. I know I tell you this a lot, but you’re a magnificent storyteller. The way you make a place like a desert feel alive to me, it’s just… magical, almost.”
Ana snorts, but Shae can see the beginnings of a smile on her face. “You do say that a lot. I’d almost say you were trying to flatter me, but… I know you better than that. You always tell me the truth.”
Shae’s heart quickens, and she feels a wave of heat flow from her chest to her face. She’s grateful at once that’s it’s too dark for Ana to see her clearly; she’d recognize a blush in an instant, and Shae doesn’t want to explain why she’s blushing at all. She manages to keep her eyes on Ana’s face. “I just—tell the truth as I see it,” she says. Her voice wavers a little, but she covers it by clearing her throat. “At least, that’s what Trishkel is trying to teach me. To read the truth from the currents and the stars.”
Ana smiles, her teeth glinting in the semi-dark. “How is shaman training going? I forgot to ask earlier.”
“It’s… complicated,” Shae replies. “It’s magic, which is never simple, and ritual, which is always boring. Trishkel seems pleased with my progress, at least.” She shrugs.
“Well, I’m glad it’s going okay,” Ana says, amusement in her voice. “You always say that magic is complicated, but…” She reaches up to touch the sea glass at her throat. “I’m glad these things still work. You must’ve done a really good job with them.”
Shae touches her own sea glass shard. “Thank you. Trishkel says that they’re… feeding off the force of our friendship a little? Relationships are their own kind of magic, he says, and because I made them to connect us, the more we feel connected, the more they connect. Like, the charm stays alive because we feel connected. If—that makes any sense.”
Ana shakes her head slowly, still smiling. “Not really? But they work, right? And it’s a hell of a lot easier than what we used to do.”
“Oh, yes,” Shae agrees, laughing a little. “Much better than sending our parents to and fro as messengers.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretches between them, more a natural lull in the conversation than the result of awkwardness. Eventually, Ana uncurls her legs, letting her feet dangle in the water as she leans back to look at the sky again, bracing herself with her hands. Shae follows her gaze for a few minutes, before letting her eyes drift down to Ana’s face, and then, to Ana’s hand on the rock in front of her.
She wants to reach out and put her hand on top of Ana’s, but she tamps down on the urge almost at once. It’s not a good idea, she thinks firmly. It’s not. Yes, they hold hands fairly frequently when they’re in the water together, but that’s more a habit of safety than of affection. It’s different from what she’s contemplating now. If she takes Ana’s hand now, after they’ve shared memories and had a heart to heart, it would be too intimate. Too much, too soon. Too terrifying to continue thinking about.
Shae knows (or fears, or worries about) what would happen if she took Ana’s hand. She might have to explain herself, and in doing so, her secret would be revealed, and Ana might reject her, and their friendship would be changed forever, and not happily so. Better to stay silent, she tells herself. Better to do nothing.
She feels another wave of heat flush her chest and face, and she turns her head to lay on her folded arms and hide her expression. No need to worry her friend. No need to say anything more.
She curls her hands into fists, and does not move but for the waves bobbing her gently up and down.
Ana is laying on the rock now, her eyes fixed on the sky above, when Shae says quietly, “It’s getting late.”
Ana sighs. “I know.” Without looking, she reaches one hand out, and finds one of Shae’s cool and slightly clammy hands. She doesn’t need to say anything more; Shae opens her hand from a fist and closes it around Ana’s. “I wish I could stay out here forever, sometimes.”
“I know,” Shae replies.
Ana squeezes Shae’s hand; Shae squeezes back.
“Is your brother—?” Shae begins, then corrects herself. “I’m sorry. Do you still have curfew to worry about, or has he… changed his mind?” Ana can hear the undercurrent of scorn in her friend’s voice; Shae’s opinion of Danny has only fallen lower since her parents’ deaths.
“He hasn’t.” Ana sighs again, then lets go of Shae’s hand and levers herself into a sitting position. “I don’t know why he thinks I need a curfew anymore. I’ve been eighteen for six months, I know how to be responsible.”
She sees Shae frowning in the corner of her eye. “I know you do,” she says. “He’s just—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
“I’m not even working tomorrow,” Ana grumbles, ignoring Shae’s near-outburst. “He just doesn’t seem to trust me. I mean, I know he worries, but still.” She shakes her head. “Let’s head back.”
“All right.” Shae holds up one hand, which Ana takes as she eases herself back into the water. The ocean is still refreshingly cool, and as she positions herself next to Shae, she wishes again that she could stay here forever. Maybe not in the ocean, but… with her friend, with the one person who understands her and likes her for who she is.
With a few muttered words and a flick of her wrist, Shae summons a golden bauble of light above them, so Ana can keep track of her on the way back to the docks. She smiles at Ana, and then they start to swim, alongside each other so closely that Ana’s legs and Shae’s tail brush off each other every few dozen strokes.
They’ve made this trek together dozens of times, so often that Ana can keep an eye on Shae almost on autopilot. She lets her mind wander a little as she falls into the rhythm of her stroke, and she thinks, not for the first time this summer, about what she wants.
Her first thought is an impulsive one: she wants to spend more time with Shae. But that’s almost impossible, and not just because of her land-bound obligations. They’re from two different worlds. Neither could survive in the other’s world, not without the help of powerful magic that Ana knows nothing about and Shae only knows of a little. They can only meet at the boundary of their worlds, in between each one but not fully in it.
Besides that, Ana has the weight of others’ expectations to worry about as well. Many of her friends from school have already moved away, headed off to universities to continue their studies. Ana has thought about taking courses at the local college, but she hasn’t been entirely sure of that, either. It doesn’t help that her inheritance money has been tangled up in some kind of problem at the bank; Danny has told her he’s working on it, but he hasn’t made much progress in the last six months. That’s part of the reason why she has the whale boat job, because Danny told her she had to support herself while he figured things out with the bank.
Not that getting the whale boat job has made Danny stop haranguing her, or stopped him from telling their various aunts and uncles around the country that he’s “worried” about Ana’s future. Though to be honest, Ana is also worrying about her future a little bit. What she wants and what she’s capable of doing aren’t adding up into anything she feels could be useful (never mind what Danny thinks is useful). She wants to stay here, where Shae is, but it’s becoming clear that opportunities in this seaside town are few and far between. And while a good word from the merfolk doesn’t go amiss in certain professions (it helped Ana land the job on the whale boat), it wouldn’t help her get a job she could make a career of, not unless she wanted to go into something like marine biology.
That is what concerns Danny the most: having a career. And Ana still doesn’t have the slightest idea what she could do to make her living. As much as Shae (and even her human friends) compliments her on her storytelling ability, it’s not exactly a skill Ana can parlay into a paying job. Which leaves her back on square one, stuck between the things she wants and the things everyone else expects her to want.
As they near the docks, Ana pulls her focus back to her surroundings. Shae leads the way, keeping her pace slow to let Ana cool down a little. But all too soon, they reach the little dock where Ana left her clothes. Ana catches the ladder with one hand, rising out of the water a little as she places a foot on the lowest rung beneath the surface. “Goodbye for now?” she says, turning to Shae.
Shae’s face shines in the golden glow of her conjured light, the scales on her face and shoulders glittering brightly. “Goodbye for now,” she repeats. She looks how she always looks when they have to leave each other—a little sad, maybe a little forlorn.
Ana tries to smile, to be reassuring, but it doesn’t feel like a good effort. Her thoughts from the swim are still hanging heavy over her, and Ana is certain it’s written all over her face. Shae’s expression doesn’t change, but of course it doesn’t; they know each other better than anyone else, and Shae can often read her like an open book.
“I—I’ll let you know when I have another evening free,” Ana says, shrugging awkwardly. “It’ll probably be a few days from now, you know how Danny gets sometimes…”
Shae nods. “I do. Let me know when you want to meet. And… talk to me in the meantime?” She touches the shard of sea glass at her throat. “I like talking to you, you know.”
“I—me, too.”
Shae is about to turn away. Ana can see it, in her body language and expression. She’s going to turn away, and they’re both going to feel a little sour as they head home. And so Ana does the first thing that comes to mind: she lets go of the ladder and hops back into the water, then catches Shae around the shoulders and hugs her. Shae doesn’t react for a moment, but then her arms close around Ana’s waist, and they just float there, clinging to each other.
Ana wishes again that she could stay with her friend, just for a little while longer. But she has other obligations, and she knows Danny is waiting. For a second, she hugs Shae tighter, and Shae responds in kind. Then, Ana slowly disentangles her arms from Shae’s hair and pulls away, catching onto the ladder again. Shae’s embrace loosens, but she doesn’t let go until Ana says quietly, “I’ve gotta go.”
Shae’s arms drop away, and she drifts away slightly in the water. For half a moment, Ana sees her expression—all sorrow, like she’s about to cry (even though merfolk don’t cry like humans do)—and then Shae puts a hand over her face, and the magical light goes out, and Ana looks away, her face heating with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” she says, climbing up the ladder quickly and clambering onto the dock. “I—sorry. I’ll see you soon?”
Shae looks up at her, her face partly in shadow, despite the electric light that hangs over this end of the dock. The sadness is gone from her face, and she smiles slightly. “See you soon,” she repeats. And then she swims out of the halo of light at the dock’s edge, and a moment later dips below the water’s surface, gone into the night.
Ana sits with her legs dangling over the side of the dock for a couple of minutes, hoping the slight breeze will dry her skin before she puts her clothes back on. She always feels bereft after Shae leaves her, but tonight feels worse for some reason. She wishes that she hadn’t hugged her after all, but only for a moment. They don’t hug as much as they did when they were younger. As she considers this, Ana realizes that she’s missed the hugs, the feeling of her friend’s arms around her, and the affection they both shared so easily when they were children.
Maybe Shae misses it, too, she thinks, then sighs. Or maybe you’re just being sentimental. She shakes her head, then uses the lamppost to climb to her feet. She needs to get home, and she won’t have any idea of the time until she gets back to the boardwalk, where the clock tower on the arcade keeps time. Hopefully it isn’t too late, or Danny will bite her head off the moment she’s through the front door.
She slips on her sandals and ties her skirt back around her waist, then throws her t-shirt over her shoulder instead of putting it on. She walks up the dock and back towards the rest of town, trying not to think about Shae’s reluctance to let go, or the expression on her face when she floated away. Shae cares about her, that’s all. She cares about Shae, too, and that’s fine, isn’t it? They’re friends, and friends are supposed to care about each other.
Ana wishes she could do more than just idly wishing to spend more time with Shae. That she could say more of what she means, instead of bottling things up. Sometimes it feels like there’s a chasm between them now, some insurmountable distance that keeps them both from saying what they really want to say. Ana loves Shae more than any other friend, and occasionally (when they’re being particularly smothering) more than her own family. Maybe—maybe she doesn’t love Shae like that, but—a lot. But saying that out loud, even thinking it, seems like too much. Like if Ana said it, it would break something between them.
And anyway, Shae knows that Ana cares about her, that Ana loves her. What would be the point in saying it out loud?
Because then she’d know, Ana thinks immediately. And I don’t know what will happen after that.
And just what does that mean? Ana shakes her head, throwing the thought away before she starts overthinking it. It doesn’t mean anything. Shae misses her when they’re apart, just like Ana misses her in turn. They’re friends; friends miss each other when they’re not together. It’s normal. It’s totally normal, and there is nothing wrong about it.
Ana exits the docks to find that the day’s heat is still rising up from the pavement. She sighs again, and as she makes her way to the boardwalk, she starts to sweat, the slight ocean breeze no longer enough to dry her out or even keep her cool. The heatwave hasn’t broken yet, and she grumbles about the weather the whole walk home, not daring to think about anything else.
Author:
skye_writerRating: PG
Wordcount: 4,543 words
Summary: Ana spends an evening on the waves with her mermaid friend, Shae.
Notes: Written for
getyourwordsout 's Build-A-Bingo challenge (prompt: "heatwave"). These characters are from my (currently unwritten) Little Mermaid Retelling. I hope you enjoy.August has settled in the seaside town...
August has settled in the seaside town like a heavy winter coat. The thick, humid air sticks to people, drawing out sweat but offering no relief from it; what little wind comes off the ocean is not enough to keep anyone cool. Those who can afford personal breeze charms buy them in droves, never mind if the charm-maker is taking their cash in exchange for something that will work for two hours at most. The sky remains cheerfully blue all day, the few clouds far too thin and wispy to offer any respite from the sun. Even as the sunset paints the sky brilliant shades of orange and red, heat continues to rise off the pavement, turning the town into a slowly cooling oven. Tourists and locals alike make for the boardwalk and the pier, where proximity to the ocean offers at least a little respite.
Ana shoulders her way through the boardwalk crowds with practiced ease, her wavy hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The crowd thins considerably at the access to the pier, and she continues on until she reaches the public docks, where the few people are boat owners, all of whom know Ana by sight. She nods at those who greet her, and continues down the docks to her destination.
She’s spent all day at her job on a whale-watching boat, keeping tourists from leaning too far over the side rail and offering food to the seagulls. It’s thankless work, especially on a day like today, but she survived. She’s been looking forward to tonight. As she walks down the farthest-out dock, she touches a jagged shard of sea glass that hangs around her neck on a carefully-made chain.
Anyone with a talent for seeing thaumic energies would know at once what was hanging around Ana’s neck: a charm imbued not with human magic, but with the esoteric magic of the seas. Said person might draw any number of conclusions about Ana with that information, but the truth is simple enough: Ana has a best friend, and that friend is a mermaid.
Ana reaches the end of the last dock, where a barnacle-crusted ladder hangs down a few feet into the water. With one hand still on the sea glass charm, she kneels and knocks on the last plank of the dock five times.
A few moments later, the water bubbles loudly, and Ana peers down just as a pale face framed by yellow hair and iridescent scales pops above the surface.
The mermaid smiles carefully when her sea-green eyes meet Ana’s, and Ana grins back. Around her neck she wears a necklace that is the twin to Ana’s, the sea glass the same color, and jagged in a way that suggests the two pieces would fit together. She puts a webbed hand on the lowest visible rung of the ladder, and says, “I thought you were going to be late.”
“Good to see you, too, Shae,” Ana replies, laughing. “Look, it’s been a long day, all right?”
Shae laughs. “I wasn’t going to argue the point! I gathered as much from your message. Are you ready to swim?”
“Oh, I’ve been ready all day.” Ana stands and peels off her work shirt, then unties the strings down the side of her skirt, revealing her bathing suit underneath. She kicks off her sandals, then folds her clothes and lays them neatly on the edge of the dock, her sandals beneath them. “I had to stay in the ticket office the last half of my shift, which would have been fine if the AC hadn’t broken the other day. It’s been so hot here lately, it’s ridiculous.”
“Well, the ocean’s always cooler,” Shae says.
“That, my friend, is what I’m counting on.” She starts down the ladder, and Shae swims aside to give her room. As her legs and then her torso enter the water, Ana sighs in relief. “God, that feels good. And it’s better farther out, right?”
“As always,” Shae assures her. As Ana lets go of the ladder, Shae offers her hand, and Ana takes it. “Let’s swim?”
“Let’s,” Ana agrees.
And without another word, Shae tugs her away from the dock, and together they set out for deeper waters.
Their destination this evening, like many other evenings, is the boundary stone, a lonely rock that juts out of the ocean about ten yards north-northeast of the town’s main pier. The stone is avoided by seabirds despite its closeness to the shore, for it serves as a magical anchor of sorts. The local merfolk village and the thaumic studies department of the local college use the stone as a boundary marker. It defines the influence of their opposing magics, and anchors that separation in earth and sea. As far as Shae and Ana are concerned, though, it’s a perfect place for a human girl and her mermaid friend to enjoy each other’s company.
As the sun makes its way to the horizon, Shae and Ana talk about their time apart. It’s been four days since they last saw each other, which seems like an eternity. Ana complains a little about her job, and Shae listens and makes comments here and there. Ana alternates between treading water beside Shae, and sitting up on the rock, her feet in the water. Shae stays in the water; they’re not so far from the pier that they can’t be seen, and sightings of merfolk always tend to draw curious eyes.
Eventually, the sun sets beyond the horizon, and the ruddy sky darkens to a bluish gray. The stars are starting to appear, slightly drowned out by the proximity of the town and its lights. The brightest of them are peeking out, though, looking down on Shae and Ana as they float near the boundary stone.
Shae steals a glance at Ana, admiring her dark profile in the dying light. They have been friends since they were children, when Shae saved Ana from a riptide, and the human news channel did a story about it. They practically grew up together, and for all that they are from utterly different worlds, Shae has loved her as a sister for all that time.
But it’s only in the last year that Shae has realized that her affection has become coupled with attraction. She loves Ana, yes, but those feelings have grown more complicated, more like the romantic love that humans can never seem to speak about directly. For all that it is impossible, Shae loves her.
(It is not impossible; that is perhaps the wrong word. There are ways for merfolk to assume human form, and possibly vice versa, but Shae does not know them yet. It is advanced magic, much more advanced than the magic she is currently learning from her village shaman. And so it might as well be impossible.)
Shae has not told Ana about this. She has barely told anyone at all. (Trishkel the shaman knows, and has told her she is acting exceedingly human about this, which Shae cannot deny.) She’s afraid. She doesn’t want to lose Ana as a friend if her feelings aren’t returned. And even if Ana did love her in the same way, Shae does not want her friend forced to choose between two worlds, when one contains the only family Ana has left.
And so she says nothing, and admires Ana in spare moments, when she will not be noticed.
“I wish we could see more stars out here,” Ana says quietly. Below the surface, her hand brushes Shae’s, and Shae takes it.
“Me, too.” Shae squeezes her hand, and Ana squeezes back. “They’re more visible out by the village, but…”
“It’s too dangerous for me to swim that far from shore, I know.” She sighs a sigh Shae knows well; this is a discussion they’ve had far too many times.
“Yes,” Shae says.
They float silently for a few moments, then Ana says, “Maybe I should save up and buy a kayak or something. I could paddle out to the village and we could stargaze out there.”
Shae smiles, though she knows Ana can’t see it. “That sounds nice.”
More silence. Shae glances at Ana again. Her profile is backlit by the lights on the shore, a slightly scattered silhouette. The long, perfect slope of her nose drops off like a cliff, and the full curves of her lips look like gentle waves below that height. She’s lovely, Shae thinks. As always, she’s lovely.
She squeezes Ana’s hand again, and returns her gaze to the sky.
“Did I tell you about that time I saw all the stars?” Ana asks.
It isn’t really a question, because Ana has told this story before, but Shae replies, “I can’t remember. Tell it again and refresh my memory.”
So Ana begins her tale, talking about driving cross-country with her parents and her brother, about being twelve years old and bored by the endless plains outside her window. The second day of the trip saw them through the desert. Her father kept driving into the night, and Ana couldn’t sleep. Finally, close to midnight, her father pulled off the interstate, parking the car in a dirt turnoff close to the highway’s entrance.
Her brother and mother were both asleep, but Ana asked quietly why her father had stopped. “I need to look at something else for a few minutes,” he said. “Why don’t we step outside and look together.”
They were in the middle of the desert, far, far away from any human towns or even a fueling station. Ana followed her father out of the car and joined him to lean against the back bumper. The redness of the taillights rendered the shadows deep and flat on her father’s face. He smiled at her, and pointed up. “Take a look.”
Ana looked, and she gasped.
The sky was full of stars. The cloudy line of the galaxy towered up from the horizon, giving the sky depth and distance like she had never seen back home.
“I saw every star,” Ana says. “And all the planets, too. There were so many of them, the sky could barely hold them all. And—Daddy put his arm around my shoulder, and he held me, and we looked at the stars until his eyes could see the road again.” Her voice is thick, the words wobbly, and Shae knows without looking that Ana’s eyes are full of tears.
She lets go of Ana’s hand, and puts her arm loosely around Ana’s shoulders. “Hey,” she says, “I’m here, all right? I’m—I’m here.”
Ana squeezes her eyes shut, her breaths long and shaky. Shae sees her look up, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying, Shae knows, to dispel her tears. “It’s been three years,” she whispers. “Three years, and—and I still miss them, and it hurts, and—why does it still hurt so much?”
“Because they were your parents,” Shae answers. “Because you loved them, and you still love them. And missing people when they’re gone is… what happens.”
“I know.” Ana sniffles, and reaches one hand up to wipe her nose and rub at her eyes. “I know.” For a moment, she leans into Shae’s shoulder, and Shae dares to pull her a little closer. But then she mutters, “Dammit,” and pulls out of the embrace, moving to climb out of the water, back onto the boundary stone that marks the division between their worlds.
Shae folds her arms on the rock beside her, and looks up at her friend. “You all right?”
Ana tucks her legs against her chest, propping her chin on her knees, but says nothing.
“Thank you for telling me that story again, by the way,” Shae says. “It gets better every time I hear it.”
Ana turns her head to meet Shae’s eyes. “Yeah?”
Shae smiles. “Yeah. I know I tell you this a lot, but you’re a magnificent storyteller. The way you make a place like a desert feel alive to me, it’s just… magical, almost.”
Ana snorts, but Shae can see the beginnings of a smile on her face. “You do say that a lot. I’d almost say you were trying to flatter me, but… I know you better than that. You always tell me the truth.”
Shae’s heart quickens, and she feels a wave of heat flow from her chest to her face. She’s grateful at once that’s it’s too dark for Ana to see her clearly; she’d recognize a blush in an instant, and Shae doesn’t want to explain why she’s blushing at all. She manages to keep her eyes on Ana’s face. “I just—tell the truth as I see it,” she says. Her voice wavers a little, but she covers it by clearing her throat. “At least, that’s what Trishkel is trying to teach me. To read the truth from the currents and the stars.”
Ana smiles, her teeth glinting in the semi-dark. “How is shaman training going? I forgot to ask earlier.”
“It’s… complicated,” Shae replies. “It’s magic, which is never simple, and ritual, which is always boring. Trishkel seems pleased with my progress, at least.” She shrugs.
“Well, I’m glad it’s going okay,” Ana says, amusement in her voice. “You always say that magic is complicated, but…” She reaches up to touch the sea glass at her throat. “I’m glad these things still work. You must’ve done a really good job with them.”
Shae touches her own sea glass shard. “Thank you. Trishkel says that they’re… feeding off the force of our friendship a little? Relationships are their own kind of magic, he says, and because I made them to connect us, the more we feel connected, the more they connect. Like, the charm stays alive because we feel connected. If—that makes any sense.”
Ana shakes her head slowly, still smiling. “Not really? But they work, right? And it’s a hell of a lot easier than what we used to do.”
“Oh, yes,” Shae agrees, laughing a little. “Much better than sending our parents to and fro as messengers.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretches between them, more a natural lull in the conversation than the result of awkwardness. Eventually, Ana uncurls her legs, letting her feet dangle in the water as she leans back to look at the sky again, bracing herself with her hands. Shae follows her gaze for a few minutes, before letting her eyes drift down to Ana’s face, and then, to Ana’s hand on the rock in front of her.
She wants to reach out and put her hand on top of Ana’s, but she tamps down on the urge almost at once. It’s not a good idea, she thinks firmly. It’s not. Yes, they hold hands fairly frequently when they’re in the water together, but that’s more a habit of safety than of affection. It’s different from what she’s contemplating now. If she takes Ana’s hand now, after they’ve shared memories and had a heart to heart, it would be too intimate. Too much, too soon. Too terrifying to continue thinking about.
Shae knows (or fears, or worries about) what would happen if she took Ana’s hand. She might have to explain herself, and in doing so, her secret would be revealed, and Ana might reject her, and their friendship would be changed forever, and not happily so. Better to stay silent, she tells herself. Better to do nothing.
She feels another wave of heat flush her chest and face, and she turns her head to lay on her folded arms and hide her expression. No need to worry her friend. No need to say anything more.
She curls her hands into fists, and does not move but for the waves bobbing her gently up and down.
Ana is laying on the rock now, her eyes fixed on the sky above, when Shae says quietly, “It’s getting late.”
Ana sighs. “I know.” Without looking, she reaches one hand out, and finds one of Shae’s cool and slightly clammy hands. She doesn’t need to say anything more; Shae opens her hand from a fist and closes it around Ana’s. “I wish I could stay out here forever, sometimes.”
“I know,” Shae replies.
Ana squeezes Shae’s hand; Shae squeezes back.
“Is your brother—?” Shae begins, then corrects herself. “I’m sorry. Do you still have curfew to worry about, or has he… changed his mind?” Ana can hear the undercurrent of scorn in her friend’s voice; Shae’s opinion of Danny has only fallen lower since her parents’ deaths.
“He hasn’t.” Ana sighs again, then lets go of Shae’s hand and levers herself into a sitting position. “I don’t know why he thinks I need a curfew anymore. I’ve been eighteen for six months, I know how to be responsible.”
She sees Shae frowning in the corner of her eye. “I know you do,” she says. “He’s just—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
“I’m not even working tomorrow,” Ana grumbles, ignoring Shae’s near-outburst. “He just doesn’t seem to trust me. I mean, I know he worries, but still.” She shakes her head. “Let’s head back.”
“All right.” Shae holds up one hand, which Ana takes as she eases herself back into the water. The ocean is still refreshingly cool, and as she positions herself next to Shae, she wishes again that she could stay here forever. Maybe not in the ocean, but… with her friend, with the one person who understands her and likes her for who she is.
With a few muttered words and a flick of her wrist, Shae summons a golden bauble of light above them, so Ana can keep track of her on the way back to the docks. She smiles at Ana, and then they start to swim, alongside each other so closely that Ana’s legs and Shae’s tail brush off each other every few dozen strokes.
They’ve made this trek together dozens of times, so often that Ana can keep an eye on Shae almost on autopilot. She lets her mind wander a little as she falls into the rhythm of her stroke, and she thinks, not for the first time this summer, about what she wants.
Her first thought is an impulsive one: she wants to spend more time with Shae. But that’s almost impossible, and not just because of her land-bound obligations. They’re from two different worlds. Neither could survive in the other’s world, not without the help of powerful magic that Ana knows nothing about and Shae only knows of a little. They can only meet at the boundary of their worlds, in between each one but not fully in it.
Besides that, Ana has the weight of others’ expectations to worry about as well. Many of her friends from school have already moved away, headed off to universities to continue their studies. Ana has thought about taking courses at the local college, but she hasn’t been entirely sure of that, either. It doesn’t help that her inheritance money has been tangled up in some kind of problem at the bank; Danny has told her he’s working on it, but he hasn’t made much progress in the last six months. That’s part of the reason why she has the whale boat job, because Danny told her she had to support herself while he figured things out with the bank.
Not that getting the whale boat job has made Danny stop haranguing her, or stopped him from telling their various aunts and uncles around the country that he’s “worried” about Ana’s future. Though to be honest, Ana is also worrying about her future a little bit. What she wants and what she’s capable of doing aren’t adding up into anything she feels could be useful (never mind what Danny thinks is useful). She wants to stay here, where Shae is, but it’s becoming clear that opportunities in this seaside town are few and far between. And while a good word from the merfolk doesn’t go amiss in certain professions (it helped Ana land the job on the whale boat), it wouldn’t help her get a job she could make a career of, not unless she wanted to go into something like marine biology.
That is what concerns Danny the most: having a career. And Ana still doesn’t have the slightest idea what she could do to make her living. As much as Shae (and even her human friends) compliments her on her storytelling ability, it’s not exactly a skill Ana can parlay into a paying job. Which leaves her back on square one, stuck between the things she wants and the things everyone else expects her to want.
As they near the docks, Ana pulls her focus back to her surroundings. Shae leads the way, keeping her pace slow to let Ana cool down a little. But all too soon, they reach the little dock where Ana left her clothes. Ana catches the ladder with one hand, rising out of the water a little as she places a foot on the lowest rung beneath the surface. “Goodbye for now?” she says, turning to Shae.
Shae’s face shines in the golden glow of her conjured light, the scales on her face and shoulders glittering brightly. “Goodbye for now,” she repeats. She looks how she always looks when they have to leave each other—a little sad, maybe a little forlorn.
Ana tries to smile, to be reassuring, but it doesn’t feel like a good effort. Her thoughts from the swim are still hanging heavy over her, and Ana is certain it’s written all over her face. Shae’s expression doesn’t change, but of course it doesn’t; they know each other better than anyone else, and Shae can often read her like an open book.
“I—I’ll let you know when I have another evening free,” Ana says, shrugging awkwardly. “It’ll probably be a few days from now, you know how Danny gets sometimes…”
Shae nods. “I do. Let me know when you want to meet. And… talk to me in the meantime?” She touches the shard of sea glass at her throat. “I like talking to you, you know.”
“I—me, too.”
Shae is about to turn away. Ana can see it, in her body language and expression. She’s going to turn away, and they’re both going to feel a little sour as they head home. And so Ana does the first thing that comes to mind: she lets go of the ladder and hops back into the water, then catches Shae around the shoulders and hugs her. Shae doesn’t react for a moment, but then her arms close around Ana’s waist, and they just float there, clinging to each other.
Ana wishes again that she could stay with her friend, just for a little while longer. But she has other obligations, and she knows Danny is waiting. For a second, she hugs Shae tighter, and Shae responds in kind. Then, Ana slowly disentangles her arms from Shae’s hair and pulls away, catching onto the ladder again. Shae’s embrace loosens, but she doesn’t let go until Ana says quietly, “I’ve gotta go.”
Shae’s arms drop away, and she drifts away slightly in the water. For half a moment, Ana sees her expression—all sorrow, like she’s about to cry (even though merfolk don’t cry like humans do)—and then Shae puts a hand over her face, and the magical light goes out, and Ana looks away, her face heating with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” she says, climbing up the ladder quickly and clambering onto the dock. “I—sorry. I’ll see you soon?”
Shae looks up at her, her face partly in shadow, despite the electric light that hangs over this end of the dock. The sadness is gone from her face, and she smiles slightly. “See you soon,” she repeats. And then she swims out of the halo of light at the dock’s edge, and a moment later dips below the water’s surface, gone into the night.
Ana sits with her legs dangling over the side of the dock for a couple of minutes, hoping the slight breeze will dry her skin before she puts her clothes back on. She always feels bereft after Shae leaves her, but tonight feels worse for some reason. She wishes that she hadn’t hugged her after all, but only for a moment. They don’t hug as much as they did when they were younger. As she considers this, Ana realizes that she’s missed the hugs, the feeling of her friend’s arms around her, and the affection they both shared so easily when they were children.
Maybe Shae misses it, too, she thinks, then sighs. Or maybe you’re just being sentimental. She shakes her head, then uses the lamppost to climb to her feet. She needs to get home, and she won’t have any idea of the time until she gets back to the boardwalk, where the clock tower on the arcade keeps time. Hopefully it isn’t too late, or Danny will bite her head off the moment she’s through the front door.
She slips on her sandals and ties her skirt back around her waist, then throws her t-shirt over her shoulder instead of putting it on. She walks up the dock and back towards the rest of town, trying not to think about Shae’s reluctance to let go, or the expression on her face when she floated away. Shae cares about her, that’s all. She cares about Shae, too, and that’s fine, isn’t it? They’re friends, and friends are supposed to care about each other.
Ana wishes she could do more than just idly wishing to spend more time with Shae. That she could say more of what she means, instead of bottling things up. Sometimes it feels like there’s a chasm between them now, some insurmountable distance that keeps them both from saying what they really want to say. Ana loves Shae more than any other friend, and occasionally (when they’re being particularly smothering) more than her own family. Maybe—maybe she doesn’t love Shae like that, but—a lot. But saying that out loud, even thinking it, seems like too much. Like if Ana said it, it would break something between them.
And anyway, Shae knows that Ana cares about her, that Ana loves her. What would be the point in saying it out loud?
Because then she’d know, Ana thinks immediately. And I don’t know what will happen after that.
And just what does that mean? Ana shakes her head, throwing the thought away before she starts overthinking it. It doesn’t mean anything. Shae misses her when they’re apart, just like Ana misses her in turn. They’re friends; friends miss each other when they’re not together. It’s normal. It’s totally normal, and there is nothing wrong about it.
Ana exits the docks to find that the day’s heat is still rising up from the pavement. She sighs again, and as she makes her way to the boardwalk, she starts to sweat, the slight ocean breeze no longer enough to dry her out or even keep her cool. The heatwave hasn’t broken yet, and she grumbles about the weather the whole walk home, not daring to think about anything else.
