Eliza's Heart-Shaped Locket

She sits down at the edge of the bed, facing the long mirror. I can see her face in the reflection; a long, pretty nose anchors her features. She pretends not to see me, but just for a moment, her brown eyes flick to make contact with mine through the mirror.

She flashes a half-smile.

She touches the heart-shaped locket on her collarbone; I reach forward to help her unclasp it, but then I realize the distance between us. The bed splits us apart, ocean-wide.

I crawl forward and unclasp her necklace, my fingers seeming to light up whenever I brush her skin.

She thanks me with a murmur and places the locket on my dresser. I try not to think about how the heart-shaped metal must feel, touched by the warmth of her skin.

I scoot halfway back to my place, eyes still locked on the mirror.

She raises up both long-fingered, spidery hands and pulls her hair tie loose. Hair cascades down from her ponytail; she shakes her head to let it fall.

I look on in wonder as black waving rivers spring from her scalp, flowing down and down until they reach the blue waves of our--no, my--blankets. From the mirror, she blows me a kiss.

"Stop that, Liz," I joke, and the spell is broken.

I can't keep the smile off my face. I burst into embarrassed giggles.

She starts giggling, too, and before I know it we're lying back on the pillows, clutching our stomachs from the laughter. Her on my right side, us lying atop the old quilt my great-grandma knitted for my mother's wedding. It's almost like old times.

But it isn't. Something's changed.

Okay, a lot's changed. We're adults now, for one--this isn't some sleepover at my parents' house from when we were both 13. And even though it's the same quilt, same full-size bed I grew up having to share with my sister, I'm in a different place. New apartment, new city.

But not everything's changed, I reason, looking over at her. She's still the same girl I grew up with: laughing, daring Eliza, with waves of black curls and a beautiful smile and bronze-brown cheeks and soft hands--

I shake myself out of it to find her staring at me. "What?"

"I like your new hair," Eliza says, glancing over at me. She makes eye contact just briefly, then looks up at my forehead.

"Thanks." I buzzed it off last month. My mom had a fit when she found out. Now my hair's growing back a little, but I think I'll keep it short.

She reaches up to ruffle the short strands. She's careful not to scratch me with those long pastel-pink nails. The pads of her fingertips touch my scalp so softly, and I stop breathing for a second.

Ah. So that's what's changed.

"So you like it? Nursing school?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say, hoping the heat in my face doesn't show. "I think I might be able to make a difference in the world, y'know?" I hardly hear the words coming out of my own mouth. I find myself drawn to her eyes, soft deep brown like the earth after rain. She murmurs, affirmative.

Eliza doesn't meet my gaze, her eyes fixed intently on my hair. But I get the feeling she knows I'm looking at her.

"So, uh, how's your boyfriend?" I ask.

She chuckles. "What boyfriend?" Flat and hardly a question. "I left him half a year back, and I guess I've been trying some dating apps, but just nothing feels right. You know?"

"Yeah." I pause again, relishing the feel of her fingertips. "I haven't had any luck either. But why didn't you tell me? About him."

"I was in love with someone else. I didn't want to explain everything...it was too complicated." She lets the end of her fingernail trace the borders of my widow's peak, the edges of my hairline. It makes me shiver.

"Oh."

"Get under the blankets, Ana. You'll be cold," Eliza says.

I roll my eyes. "Okay, okay. Y'know you don't have to stay here, though. I don't want you getting stuck with me," I lie.

"Where else would I go? The pullout couch? It was your brother's. I know all the stories about that pullout couch," she says.

"Shut up!" I say, bursting into nervous laughter.

The pullout couch sits in the other room, all ready for her. I fluffed the pillows and set up the sheets with extra care this morning, knowing it was all for her. I even put a little lavender inside her intended pillowcase.

"Nah, I think I'm just fine with you." She cracks a smile.

I laugh, giddy, warmth bubbling up in me as I burrow under the covers.

She joins me. I pull the lamp cord and leave us in darkness.

We chat, side-by-side, lying on our backs. We talk about whatever comes to mind: old high school stories, Eliza's job at the mall, my crazy siblings, the TV show we're both watching, what's new in our hometown.

Eventually our voices trail off, and Eliza rolls over onto her side, murmuring "Goodnight."

I roll onto my side, too, facing her back. I bunch together a handful of blankets to hold. It feels like my breathing is the loudest sound in the whole world.

Eventually I gather up some courage and scoot closer. I throw my arm around her almost haphazardly. Her chest rises and falls underneath my touch; something I can't bear to name rises up in my chest.

She says nothing, does nothing. After a few moments, I roll away from her. Heat rises in my face like soup boiling over: what if I just did something freakish and weird? Best to let her sleep now and beg forgiveness in the morning--or better yet, jump out the window and run down the fire escape so I never have to see the consequences of my action.

But Eliza turns toward me, half-asleep, and touches my elbow. "Where's your arm?" she asks groggily.

She guides my arm to her chest. I, chaste, lay my fingertips on her collarbone. This time, I clutch her close.

I press the full length of my body against Eliza's: my chest against her back, my hips in line with hers, my knees bending to the fold of her legs. I bury my nose in her hair. It's smooth and thick and smells like her strawberry shampoo.

Her chest rises and falls with her soft breathing. I let myself breathe in tandem with her, relishing the steady thrum of her pulse under my palm.

She scoots backward and clasps my hand in hers.

I lie there, almost giddy, very aware of my hand's proximity to her breasts. Very, very aware of my front pressed up against her back.

She scoots in again, melding herself to me. My heart races and something tingles below my belly button.

Once my heart slows, I realize that her breathing's taken on a slower rhythm. She's asleep in my arms. I beam.

It takes me a while longer to fall asleep. The whole time I lie there, half-awake, I think, for some reason, of taking her last name. Like a middle-school girl daydreaming about her crush. Ana Thakkar, I think, mouthing the syllables. Anahit Thakkar.

~

I wake on my back with sunlight streaming in through the window and Eliza glued onto me, head on my chest and one arm encircling my torso.

I reach for my phone, wanting to check the time.

Eliza notices and looks up at me, a soft smile on her face.

"Morning," I say, my voice rough with sleep.

"Morning." She reaches up to play with my hair (or lack thereof).

"You're only here for one more night," I say. Has time really passed that fast?

She gives me a funny look, and I quickly add, "Sorry. Two more days."

"Yeah," Eliza says, "I'm only here one more night."

~

We spend Saturday out on the town. I show Eliza all my favorite spots: the nook in the library, a Lebanese restaurant with the best kibbeh in the USA, a park with big shady trees. We lapse into easy conversation, cursing real loud like nobody can hear us. She tells the funniest stories, giving me big belly laughs that make my cheeks ache. Eliza shows me her locket and makes me guess who's inside: ex-boyfriend? Her parents? Her pet cat? Nobody, it turns out. The locket's empty.

Swapping stories, walking down the street with takeout--it almost feels like the senior year of high school again. It was always just the two of us taking on the world. Back before I moved cross-country and went to college, before she started working full-time at the jewelry store on Main.

Yes, it almost feels exactly like it did. But back in high school, my stomach never dropped when she touched me. I'm hyper-aware of my body. I find myself begging her, through some desperate telepathy, to link her arm with mine. I wish she'd kiss me. Is that crazy? Whenever she walks ahead, my eyes follow the swing of her hips in that little white dress. Her--Eliza. My best friend.

At the train station, we both hop the turnstiles, one holding the bags while the other jumps. We take the subway to the last stop, then walk the rest of the way to the beach. It's a long trip, but worth it. I know she loves the ocean.

The sun is almost set by the time we get there. Gulls cluster on one end of the beach, digging through chip bags and looking superior. A few families linger on the beach; couples watch the sunset from blankets and towels.

Eliza picks out a spot, and we sit down. I give her my hoodie to sit on; she declines, kneeling down in the sand so that her dress spreads out around her.

"You look beautiful," I say. Blood rushes to my face as she turns to look at me. "I mean, uh, that's a nice color on you. It's beautiful on you."

Eliza smiles and hands me a kebab from one of the boxes. "Thanks. You too." She squeezes my thigh.

I pretend not to notice, even though my heart nearly pummels its way through my ribs.

"Surprise!" I yell, a little too loudly, and I pull a bottle of wine out of my bag.

"Wow, you really went all out," she says, glancing at the cheap brand name. She lightly punches my shoulder.

"Shut up, I'm a college student! What am I supposed to do, steal a bottle of Sassicaia?"

"Yes, obviously." We descend into banter; before I know it, the food and the sun are gone.

We lapse into a satisfied silence, still trading the bottle back and forth. A little sand gets on the rim.

A lone swimmer does laps back and forth, back and forth, way out alone in the waves. Her arm arcs up like a wing. The water reflects moonbeams and streetlights, showing off a dozen new colors in the twilight.

Eliza stares out at the waves. She's smiling, just a little. I don't think she realizes it.

"One day I'll move out here. Then we'll go swimming every weekend." She turns to face me. For the millionth time today, I marvel at her eyes: such a warm, rich, deep brown.

"I'd like that," I say.

"Thanks for the wine." Eliza smiles.

"No, thank you for lunch."

"Of course," she says, and she leans in--almost jerkily, like she's nervous--to give me a quick kiss on the cheek.

My breath catches. I reach out for something, I don't know what, and she takes my hand. She helps me up.

We walk back to the train station, talking way too loudly about absolutely nothing. We laugh too much. I shoot a glare at anyone who looks at us sideways. I won't let anyone mess with my friends. Especially Eliza.

~

We get back to my apartment so late that the night sky is completely black. All the purples have faded away.

Eliza fiddles with the hem of her dress as I unlock the door. It's made of stretchy white fabric and falls just above the knee. The back is all lacy. It hugs her tenderly, smooth against her soft brown skin. Not for the first time, I want to touch her.

She meets my eyes. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I break into a stupid grin. I can't stop staring.

I open the door. Eliza blinks and quickly looks away.

I flick on the lights.

Eliza slips out of her flats. I look at her, but she looks down, still fidgeting with her hem.

"Midnight snack?" I suggest.

"Sure." She smiles and quickly darts her eyes up to look at me.

"C'mon." I grab her hand. Her nails are so nice.

Once in the kitchen, I grab brownies from the fridge. It's not like I made a whole batch for her visit or anything.

Eliza reaches past me and grabs a bottle of whiskey. "What's this? Trying to get me drunk?" she teases.

"I'm trying to feed you brownies," I say, shoving a brownie under her nose.

She giggles. Maybe it's the wine, but we both burst out laughing.

I put something on the CD player--an old pop album we liked in high school.

"Oh my god, these are good," Eliza says, grabbing another brownie. "Wait, is this that band--"

"You bet. And yes, I still have a CD player, don't make fun of me." I grab a brownie, too. They really are good.

Eliza takes a sip of the whiskey. "There. Now I'm not responsible for my actions for the rest of the night."

She hands it over, then starts to dance.

I take a swig. It sears down my throat.

She steps to the beat, eyes closed, lost in the music. Her hair bounces. She catches the light, all of her--her lips, her cheeks, her earrings, her nails.

She notices me staring and grins. She spins on the ball of one foot.

Eliza's skirt twirls, lifting up, and I can't help but glance at her pretty thighs. Her hair flies up too, waves undulating and coming to rest again on her shoulders.

I leap into the music. My downstairs neighbor might complain, but hey, who cares. The beat moves me, makes my hips roll and my shoulders shake.

I step to the beat, half mirroring her moves, half making up my own. My heart races as I move with the rhythm.

Eliza's chest rises and falls. She's radiant. I can't stop looking at her. Shadows play over her shoulders, dive between her breasts.

She shakes her hips. The dress clings to her curves just right. The smile in her eyes is so pure, but the way her ass bounces as she moves her hips to the beat is almost vulgar. I want to grab her by the small of her back and pull her close to me, kiss those soft lips.

God, why can't I take my eyes off her?

I flick my wrists, thrust my heel into the floor, smile at her because I just can't help it. Want pulses deep between my hips.

She runs her hands over her shoulders, down her chest. That look in her eyes--my own desire, reflected back at me.

I extend a hand to her.

She takes it, her own hand slipping under my own. Her bracelet whispers against my wrist. My smile almost splits my face.

She pulls me closer and lays one hand on my shoulder. She squeezes my arm through my shirt. Her chest is pressed up so close, I can't take it.

We dance across the floor, making up the steps, only tripping over each other a little. I place a hand on her waist, and she exhales shakily. She's as nervous as I am.

A new song starts, and Eliza gives a small grin. She remembers the summer this was on the radio, and we'd drive around town, volume up so high it spilled out the windows.

She knows all the words by heart. So do I. Neither of us starts to sing, though.

"Our song," I say.

We lose ourselves to the dance. I lift my arm up and spin her around. She presses herself back up against me; I steady her with my hand placed a little lower than her waist. She giggles, then leans her head against my cheek. Her breath smells like wine and chocolate, just like mine.

I run a hand through her hair, twirl the black locks around my finger. I feel her smile against my cheek.

I pull my head back. Before I really know what I'm doing, I kiss her.

Her eyes go wide, then they close. She parts her lips.

I melt into her, running my fingers through her hair. She's so warm, so soft that the music fades from my mind. I never imagined I could feel like this. She's still wearing the heart-shaped locket on her breastbone; I rub my fingers over the smooth metal.

She pulls me closer, fingernails racing up my neck to my scalp. Lust pools between my thighs.

I squeeze her ass, and she sighs into my mouth. Her fingers tremble. I can't believe we've never even tried this. Nobody ever told me how good it feels, holding a woman in your arms.

Eliza runs her hands over my thighs, then grabs my waist, pulling me toward--I open my eyes and break away.

She looks at me, mouth still open, breathing fast. "I can't believe it took you so long," she murmurs. "I've been teasing you all damn day." She places herself against the kitchen wall, pulls me against her.

"Me either," I say, finally. She smiles like she's got me right where she wants me.

I look her deep in the eyes like I'm going to kiss her again. I take a step forward, then cup her breast in my palm and squeeze. She squeals.

"That's for teasing me," I say.

"Oh, fuck you." She grins and pulls me into her.

Eliza kisses me, one hand in my hair, one hand on the wall. Like she wants me to hold her there.

I press her palm against the wall and let the other trace her smooth thigh. I've wanted to touch her there since I first saw her in this little dress. I push up the skirt.

Her breath hitches as she kisses me. She parts her legs, lets me in.

I slide a hand over her underwear, and she shudders. All pretense gone.

My mind races. She's my best friend, but here she is, opening her thighs for me. I'm her best friend, and here I am, cupping her mound.

I rub my fingertip over a wet spot the size of a coin. I slip my fingers underneath the fabric.

She breaks the kiss, head thrown back.

"Wow, Liz," I say, sliding my fingertips over her pussy. She's slick, just like me. My clit pulses as I tease her.

I push two fingers into her and close my lips over the soft skin on her neck. She's soft, wet, warm. She rolls her hips over my hand.

She smells perfect, like shampoo and floral perfume. I still can't believe it. We've been friends for years, and I've never realized how precious she is.

I leave marks on her neck as I beckon, rhythmic. I slip in another finger.

Her hips jerk against the wall. "Please," she whines, "please, please--"

She squeezes my hand. With her other hand she rakes those pretty nails over my neck, my bare shoulders. I shudder. Pleasure races down my spine.

I add another. Four fingers and she's clamping down on my hand. Her every breath is a whimper.

I throb. I fit my thumb inside her and beckon, wrenching a cry out of her. I feel almost cruel.

She rolls her hips against my hand. "Fuck, yes, yes," she whines, so low under her breath I can barely hear.

I don't say anything. I keep kissing her, marking her up. I swivel my hand inside her.

She pushes a thigh up, off the wall, and it fits deliciously between my legs. I feel high. Her back arches to press her stomach and breasts against mine. She melds into me.

At some point I notice the music's gone. All I hear is Eliza's breath and mine. She cries out, "God, oh God."

Her hips buck. She shudders, stiffens, goes limp against the wall, gasps for breath.

"Good," I say. "Good girl, Liz."

I pull my hand out and grind against her thigh. I come with a shudder, almost quiet.

Eliza fixes her dress and stares at me. "God, Ana," she says. "I never..." She trails off, shrugs. Kisses me again on the cheek. I almost laugh at how chaste it is--a friend kissing her friend goodnight.

"Thank you," she says, finally.

She takes my hand and leads me to my own bed.

~

I wake up with Liz in my arms. She's still asleep as I come to, blink against the sunlight. Today's the day I drive her back to the airport. Soon she'll be gone again. But she won't forget this. I know I can't ever forget it.

I hold her in my arms. I tell myself, This changes everything, but maybe it doesn't have to. Maybe we can still be friends. I know that whatever happens, we'll still be Ana and Liz.

She stirs, and I kiss her neck. I bury my nose in her dark hair and let myself drift off again, quietly happy.