Sawyer claws her way up the side of the bed, laughing as she rolls herself from her belly on to her back. She leans over the side, holding her hand out to Natasha. Natasha lets Sawyer pull her up, settles the sheets over them both.
“Jesus, Natasha,“ Sawyer wheezes, pressing Natasha’s smaller body against her own. Natasha wiggles down the bed so she can squash her head between Sawyer’s breasts.
Sawyer strokes her hair, learns down to kiss it, “I don’t think I’ll ever fuck anyone else, if that’s okay with you.”
Natasha snorts into Sawyer’s cleavage with enough force that it makes a raspberry sound, and it sets Sawyer’s giggling off again.
In the morning, Natasha wakes with the urge to paint. She contents herself by doodling on the back of an on circular letter that she finds in Sawyer’s wastepaper bin.
Sawyer sleeps late, as usual. She’s worked every day for the last fortnight, but Natasha knows that she would sleep in even if she never worked again. When she does wake, she cuddles Natasha for a while, propping her phone up on Natasha’s chest and squinting at it with one eye. When Sawyer’s adjusted to full wakefulness, she offers to make coffee, and stumbles off towards the kitchen, returning with two hot cups and a narrow sheaf of mail under her arms.
Sawyer opens the large white envelopes first. She makes little frustrated noises under her breath, and taps notes into her phone. She separates the letters from their envelopes and puts them in two stacks. Natasha is always amazed at how meticulous Sawyer is.
Sawyer saves a powder blue, square envelope for last. Natasha was only half watching before, more interested in shading in her drawing. But the envelope looks expensive, and her curiosity is piqued. Sawyer slits open the envelope and casts it aside on the bed sheets.
“Oh!” Sawyer exclaims, her brow furrowed.
Natasha can’t quite tell if it’s an Oh! of a nice surprise, or shock. She asks, “What is it, Sawyer?”
“I’ve been nominated for an award!” She cackles, “We Have Always Lived In The Castle has been nominated for Best Lighting Design at the inaugural Boston Theatre Professionals’ Award.”
“Oh my God!” Natasha springs from the bed, “That’s so cool!”
A fierce rush of pride washes over her. Sawyer’s face is bare, messy curls framing her sparkling brown eyes. She’s brilliant. Her beautiful, brilliant woman.
“Oh shush,” Sawyer yanks Natasha back into bed by the wrist. She continues, “It’s just a made-up award. Local businesses chip in to sponsor it, people nominate their friends, the whole circus goes up on social media and everyone retweets each other. Everybody wins.”
“It’s still an award! Will you get a trophy? Can I fuck you with it?”
“Once a child gymnast, always a child gymnast. And no, you absolutely cannot fuck me with it. It’s a fucking cuboid. I’m only nominated, Boston Contemp won’t win anything. The big theatres will.”
Modesty is not usually Sawyer’s thing. Natasha is aware that there is probably a lot of truth in what she says, but she doesn’t miss the bashful pink sheen to Sawyer’s cheeks, or the way she gropes under the sheets to find her phone and Mikaela and Kimberly straight away.
Mikaela offers to make a Sawyer a dress. Natasha ends up taking measurements for her, Sawyer standing fully naked, with legs and arms spread. Natasha kneels at Sawyer’s feet and is rolling the tape up from her ankles to her waist. Then again from her hips to the floor. Then again from the nape of her neck back down to the floor. Mikaela is exacting. She wants measurements of the circumference of Sawyer’s wrists, and then from her wrists to her shoulder. She’s even sent Natasha a little template for Natasha to write the numbers in.
“Have you invited Lucia, Natasha?”
Natasha prevaricates, “Um, yeah. She said to tell you thank you, but she can’t make it.”
Natasha loops the tape around Sawyer’s neck, pulling it tight. She trusts Mikaela to give Sawyer some breathing room in the final product. Sawyer locks eyes with Natasha as the tape tightens. Her breathing quiets. Natasha gives the tape an extra tug for effect, and feels it bounce as Sawyer swallows against it. Sawyer’s eyes are dark.
“She needs to move whatever else she has scheduled. I know these types of awards are a bit of a sham, but if she wants to increase the quality and profile of your programming, she needs to get out there, and not just with the college kids.”
Natasha sighs, she doesn’t want to get into it. She drops to her knees by Sawyer’s feet again. She reaches up to brush her hands through Sawyer’s pubes, first down and then against the grain to make her squirm.
“What’s she doing that night anyway?”
“Uh,” says Natasha. She checks Mikaela’s list to see what she needs to measure next.
“Nat?”
Fine, Natasha thinks. Fine.
“She said it was a bit mainstream for her.”
“Did she?”
“Well, you know. The hotel conference centre. The live stream. The designated hashtag. It’s not very Lucia, is it?”
She expects an outburst, but Sawyer just rolls her eyes.
The dress comes by courier a week later. It arrives wrapped in brown paper, and feels heavier than Natasha expected in her arms. Sawyer won’t let Natasha see it at
