The sky was bright and clear, there were entirely too many people here, and London was, perhaps, too hungover for this.
Even if it had been their idea.
It had seemed like a good plan last night, somehow, when they’d stumbled with Dahlia back to the hotel after leaving the Chef’s Special set for the official last time, their stomachs full of barbecue and sweet potato pie and champagne, glitter still caught in London’s hair.
“I missed the hotel,” Dahlia had said as they’d walked the route from the sound stage to the hotel hand in hand, the streets they had walked together so many times this summer. The Burbank night had been quiet and dark, the still calm surreal after the non-stop stress of the finale, the adrenaline of the celebration afterward.
But it also felt right, ending it like this, with Dahlia. The quiet, the achingly familiar scent of her coconut shampoo finally bringing London back to earth, soothing their blood pressure. They still had so many details to work out, them and Dahlia, so many questions left in the air.
But more than any prize, more than any sum of money, her presence next to them reassured London that life was going to be different now. That the future, whatever happened after this night, was limitless.
“Is that weird? To miss a hotel?”
“No.” London squeezed her hand. “It missed you, too.”
London’s blood still burned from their kisses in the studio, from getting to touch her again, from how fucking hot she looked in that outfit she’d shown up in. The fire between them had simmered as they’d cleaned up the mess they’d made, leaving a stack of leftovers in the industrial fridges for Janet as Dahlia had promised, before they’d snuck out of the lot. But as the hotel came into view, the promise of all the things London planned on doing to Dahlia in that hotel, one more time, blazed back to mind, and flames licked anew underneath their skin.
“When do you fly out?” they asked into Dahlia’s neck, shoving her against the elevator wall as soon as the doors clicked shut.
“In three days,” Dahlia answered on a sigh, her hands wrapping around London’s back. “I figured, no matter what happened, I wanted to give myself some time to say a proper goodbye to LA. Since I didn’t really get to, before.”
And instead of sucking Dahlia’s earlobe into their mouth as they had planned, London simply hugged Dahlia back, rested their face in her hair, as their heart filled up their ribcage. Dahlia loved LA, its vast, constant motion matching her own spirit. The way she had left it over a week ago, stealing away in the middle of the night, simply hadn’t been right.
“Do you want company for any of it? It’s okay if you don’t.”
Dahlia squeezed them back.
“I think I’d like to do some of it alone. But company for some of it wouldn’t be bad.”
The idea came to London when they’d finally entered their room, collapsing at once onto the bed, kicking off their shoes.
“God,” Dahlia murmured, hands threading into London’s hair. “I forgot how much it smells like you in here. I need you to fuck me immediately.”
London murmured their assent as they hovered over her, palms smoothing up her legs, underneath all the tulle of that skirt.
“Dahlia.” They tried to hold in their smile, because they shouldn’t be smiling right now; they should be thinking lots of smoldering sexy things, which they were, but also—“Remember when we made that list of things to do in LA?”
“Yes.” Dahlia began unbuttoning London’s shirt, voice distracted. “Best weekend ever. Have I mentioned your makeup is supremely hot?”
“Thank you. But we had to limit the list, remember? We could only do things that didn’t cost a lot of money.”
Dahlia frowned as she tugged the shirt off London’s shoulders.
“Can we not bring up how our financial situations are even more off-balance now, here? Because I have a lot of thoughts, but seriously, not in the mood to think about it right now.”
“No”—London tugged the skirt down her legs, to reassure her they were on the same page—“I know, but remember the first thing I suggested, before we had to limit it? The place you said you’d always wanted to go.”
“What?” Dahlia ripped her shirt over her head. “I don’t understand what’s happening right now. How are you not naked? For the love of god, take off your pants.”
“Okay, okay.” Quickly, London dispensed with the rest of their clothes before they hovered over her again, hands planted around her sides when they said, “Disney.”
“What?” Dahlia asked again, hands running up London’s bare back, head stretching off the pillows so she could suck at London’s neck. London groaned, falling forward onto their elbows, their focus starting to fray.
“Disney,” they repeated into her hair. “I just won the London Parker equivalent of the Superbowl. Let me take you to Disneyland, Dahlia.”
Finally, Dahlia paused, her mouth leaving their skin so she could blink up at them.
“I think they say Disney World, after the Superbowl,” she said faintly.
London huffed and reached a hand between Dahlia’s legs. “Yes, well,” they said as Dahlia’s eyes fluttered closed on a whimper, “we’re in LA, so. Fuck the NFL.”
“A solid point,” she conceded, eyes still closed, hips starting to roll against London’s hand. She grabbed their wrist a second later, directed it underneath her underwear. London had to bite their tongue at the feel of her wet folds sliding against their fingertips once more. “Yeah,” she breathed, voice more confident even as her breathing intensified. “Take me to Disney, London.”
London removed their hand temporarily to finally release Dahlia from the torture of her strapless bra. She sighed in relief when London threw it across the room, and they leaned down to take a nipple in their mouth, hand moving back where it belonged.
“You’ll let me pay?” they asked as they moved to her other breast, glancing up at her.
“Yeah.” She arched her back, another whimper leaving her mouth as London inched a finger inside her. “Fuck. Pay for everything. I don’t care. Personal growth. God, London, more. Please.”
And London was attempting to do as she asked when she blinked her eyes open, grabbing onto London’s shoulders as she said, “Actually, I do still care, a little. But you can pay for Disneyland.”
London grinned as they leaned down to kiss her. To delve their tongue into her mouth as she writhed beneath them against their hand, the noises rumbling in her throat more and more unrestrained.
“London,” she tore her mouth from theirs to say. Her chest heaved, eyes sparkling as she smiled up at them. “Fuck. You’re going to look so cute in Mickey ears.”
London grunted before leaning down to take her mouth back.
“I’m not going to wear Mickey ears.”
* * *
London was wearing Mickey ears.
Dahlia squealed.
“I knew it,” she breathed. “You look incredible.”
London scowled and tore the ears off their head.
“Dahlia,” they said. “This headband is fifty-five fucking dollars. No way.”
“You just won so many more dollars than that.” Dahlia bounced as she held on to London’s forearm. “Come on.”
“Taxes, though,” London mumbled as she pulled them to another shelf.
Dahlia was wearing a sequined, sparkly Minnie Mouse ear headband she’d picked up as soon as they’d entered the shop. The shop she had demanded they visit as soon as they’d entered Main Street, USA, before London had even had time to fully comprehend what a horrible idea this had been.
“Ooh.” Dahlia stopped in front of a different display. “Pride collection!”
She swapped the ludicrous fifty-five-dollar pair in London’s hands for a pair of plain black ears with a rainbow colored bowtie plopped between them. Dahlia beamed as she adjusted them in London’s strawberry hair.
“Wow,” London said dryly. “My duty to represent the LGBTQ+ community continues, I suppose.”
“Oh, shut up,” Dahlia said. “It’s cute.”
“Why don’t you get it, then?”
Dahlia pointed to her head. “Sequins, London.”
And she was right. The sequined Minnie ears were made for her. She looked so perfect in them, in fact, that even with London’s slight hangover and grumpiness over the rampant capitalism of this overcrowded store, they sort of wanted to drag her to the ground and do filthy things to her. Even in the presence of Mickey Mouse.
“Fine.” They sighed in defeat. Because, well. They couldn’t admit it now, but they kind of liked the Pride bowtie. “Let’s do it.”
“Oh my god,” Dahlia said as they made their way to the register, her fingers dusting over every rack of t-shirts, every display of snowglobes and keychains. “I want it all. But I got the ears. I told myself I’d just get the ears,” she said, voice low, talking to herself, and London had to fight the sudden urge to buy her every single damn overpriced thing they passed.
But they both restrained themselves, and Mickey/Minnie ears secured, they stepped back out onto Main Street. Dahlia squeezed London’s hand as jangly music poured into the air around them, and they made their way through the late-summer crowds.
They stopped at photo op central, between a statue of Walt Disney and Sleeping Beauty Castle.
“It’s magic,” Dahlia said, voice still as breathless as it had been back at the store. When London looked down, they saw her eyes were glistening as she tucked herself closer to their side. “Even Tanner Tavish would cry here,” she mumbled into their chest, and London let out a small laugh.
Maybe there were too many people here. Maybe they were a little hungover. Maybe they should have been spending today with their family instead, as they had planned, even though everyone—even Julie—had seemed weirdly understanding with the last minute change of plans.
But maybe this hadn’t been the worst idea after all.
“Is now a good time to talk about how Walt Disney was kind of a horrible person?” London asked, glancing back over their shoulder at the statue where approximately fifteen families were attempting selfies.
They looked back down at Dahlia when she didn’t say anything. They had expected her to smack them on the side and say “No, London, we’re in fucking Disneyland,” and London would’ve said, “I know, so it seems like the perfect time to talk about it,” and then they would have let her drag them to Tomorrowland.
But instead, she stayed silent at their side, face shoved into their chest. Until London felt her inhale, too sharply, her back heaving underneath their hand, and London tilted their chin down with a frown.
“Dahlia?”
She jerked away, wiping at her face. She avoided eye contact as she stared ahead at Sleeping Beauty Castle. It was such a sudden shift from the utter glee she’d been radiating not five minutes before that for a moment, London could only gape at her.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “Sorry.”
“Dahlia.” They stepped back toward her side. “What’s going on?”
“I just…” She shook her head, a frustrated look taking over her features, a look London recognized. The way her mouth dipped when she was irritated with herself. “Sorry,” she said again. “I’m glad we’re here. I know…we have time. To work out how…” She trailed off, but London could fill in the sentence. How they were going to work now. How this was going to work.
They’d talked a little bit, last night, but the future was still so up in the air, everything ahead of them so different from everything that had brought them to this moment.
“I know,” they said, running a hand down her arm, wanting to give her space while letting her know they understood. “I know. I feel the same way. There’s a lot to talk about. But we have time, like you said. We’ll figure it out.”
“It’s just that we fell in love in a bubble,” Dahlia went on, and London allowed themself a moment for their stomach to swoop at the easiness of we fell in love dropping out of her mouth—they fell in love; they were in love, and they could finally talk about it, free and open; it made their heart feel bigger than their body—before focusing back in on the rest of her words. “And now we’re at Disney, and I’m in LA again, and you’re here, and I’m so happy, but what if…what if after all the grand gestures and the fantasies are done…the real world is so hard, and I need a job, London, and—”
“Hey. Hey.” London moved an inch closer, angled their head. Tried to get her to look at them. “I know. I know the real world is hard, okay? But listen, you know what else was hard? Standing on that set for fourteen hour days. I’m not saying recording a reality TV show is the same thing as solving world hunger, but what we just lived through? Sure, sometimes it was fun, but most of the time it was stressful, Dahlia. And we got through it.”
“Barely!” Dahlia burst out, finally turning to look at them. Her eyes were wide and glassy as she threw out a hand. “London. I ran away the first moment it was truly hard.”
“But you came back,” London said gently, finally taking her hands in theirs. “And that night wasn’t just hard; it was devastating. Come on, Dahlia.” They squeezed her fingers. “I know the real world will be different. But we’ll be okay.”
Dahlia sniffed, looking down at their joined hands.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know we already went through some of this last night. I’m just…still completely exhausted. My emotions are like…” She shook her head again. “Sky high.”
“Well,” London said. “It’s a good thing I brought you to the world’s most exhausting place, as a treat.”
And finally, Dahlia laughed. It was still a little wet and sad sounding, but it was a laugh.
“I’m so excited,” she said, even though London could see it, now that the exhilaration of Main Street, USA was starting to diminish, the exhaustion that so clearly lined her eyes, that had been there ever since they’d reunited last night. “I think I just needed to have that little freak out first. Thanks for being nice to me.”
“How about this,” London said, ignoring her unnecessary apologies. “We’re going to have a lot of waiting in lines to do, right? How about for each ride we go on, one of us gets to list one thing about the future we’re scared about. The other person will counter with something we’re jazzed as hell about. And the next ride, we switch.”
A genuine smile curved Dahlia’s lips. She looked up into London’s eyes as the smile continued to spread over her face.
“Deal,” she said. The sun hit the sequins nestled in her hair, throwing off a white burst of light. London leaned down and kissed her.
“Now that that’s settled.” London straightened. “Tomorrowland.”
Dahlia gasped, releasing London’s hands to retrieve the map she’d stuck in the back pocket of her jean shorts. “No way,” she said. “Fantasyland first.”
“What?” London shook their head. “No, Tomorrowland’s the shit.”
“I didn’t say Tomorrowland wasn’t the shit, I said we should Fantasyland first. That’s where all the classic stuff is, right?” She furrowed her brow at the map.
“The boring stuff, you mean.”
“Listen, Mx. I’ve-Been-To-Disney-Before, I want to do the classic stuff first. Like—”
Her eyes lit up as she looked back at London.
“No.” They shook their head definitively. “Nope. No. I love you, but I am not doing It’s a Small World. Like, I legitimately refuse. It’s fucked up, Dahlia.”
Dahlia laughed, her tears officially dried.
“Okay. Fine. But like…I should probably experience how fucked up it is, right? This might be the only time I ever get to visit Disney. I feel I should experience it, like, culturally, as an American.”
“It’s your day, Woodson.” London held up their hands. “Go for it.”
“Okay, but wait.” Dahlia grabbed London’s arm as they started to walk toward Fantasyland. “We still need to get our selfie.”
Later, when London was able to study the photo without the glare of the sun, they would notice Dahlia’s eyes still looked a little red-rimmed. Their own were squinting so hard you could barely see their irises. A burly man walked behind them, carrying a screaming child, red mouth open in mid-wail. Only half of Sleeping Beauty Castle had actually made it into the frame.
And every time London looked at it, all they could hear was: we fell in love.
* * *
As it turned out, Dahlia experiencing It’s a Small World on her own allowed London time to order a chimichanga at Edelweiss Snacks—an experience as American, London thought, as the horrifying adventure Dahlia was currently living through—and find a quiet-for-Disney spot in the shade to consume it. It was a gamble, the chimichanga, but their churning stomach needed grease more than the other overly-sugared snack offerings. And while it wasn’t nearly as good as London and Dahlia’s favorite breakfast burrito place in Burbank, it ended up hitting the spot at least somewhat, so that by the time Dahlia found them again, they felt almost ready to take on the rest of the theme park.
“So, that was fucked up,” Dahlia said.
“And are you glad you experienced it?”
“You know, I am.” Dahlia smiled. “I really, really am. And now—” She twirled on her heel. “The tea cups.”
Because of course. Of course the tea cups were the first thing London was going to experience on this day. Gritting their teeth and praying to the Disney chimichanga gods, they followed.
“Okay.” Dahlia turned as soon as they were in line, as if she had spent her entire It’s a Small World experience preparing for this. “I’m scared that if it takes me a while, once we’re back in the real world, to figure out what I really want to do with my life, my whole…” Dahlia’s voice dipped and distorted, mocking, as if she were performing on an SNL sketch. “‘Ooooh, I’m having a quarter-life crisis because I don’t know who I am, help me’ thing will become really annoying.”
“Dahlia.”
The line moved forward.
“Like sure, I had a purpose on the show, but now that the show’s over, it’s back to ‘oooh, I got a divorce and quit my job because I think I’m a special snowflake who deserves to be happy’ town all over again.”
“Dahlia.” London choked on a half-laugh that seemed to escape of its own volition, even though they didn’t actually think any of this was funny. “Please. Stop doing that voice.”
“‘Oooh, I joined a reality TV show just to feel something but it didn’t fix me and I’m still a whiny little puddle, wahhh.’”
“Dahlia.”
“Okay, okay. I’m just saying. There’s a high potential for my lack of direction to become irritating once, you know, all the happy happy in-love feelings wear off.”
“They’re not—you are not—”
London exhaled. The line for the tea cups was not nearly long enough for all the things London wanted to say.
“You using that voice to make fun of yourself was irritating. You are not irritating.”
“Oh. I thought it was kind of funny.”
London sighed. “It was a little funny. But for now, can I just say, unequivocally, that I am not worried about any of that? Because I can’t even explain how much I’m not worried about any of that.”
Dahlia’s voice was small, and she kicked at the ground as they moved forward, but she said, with a semi-confident nod, “Okay.”
“Good. Now. I am jazzed as hell about…” London only hesitated because there were so many things they were jazzed as hell about, and it was hard to choose. But in the end, the first one they wanted to say was obvious. “Getting to cook with you. Like, whatever we actually want to cook, not what judges tell us to cook in a TV studio. But in our actual homes.”
“Yes.” Dahlia gave a dreamy sigh. “Yes.”
That sigh encouraged London to dip their head down to her ear.
“Dahlia,” they said. “I have so, so many fantasies about cooking with you in our own kitchen.”
They watched her swallow as her eyes flicked up to theirs.
“Me too,” she whispered. “You don’t even know.”
Their hand sneaked around Dahlia’s waist, pushing at the small of her back to press closer into them.
“I think I do,” they said, voice low, running their other hand up her neck, stretching their fingers into her hair—
“Line’s moving, lovebirds,” the man behind them shouted.
London’s face flushed as they jumped back. And then moved forward, as the gate, set only a few people ahead of them, had opened, welcoming the next group into the Mad Tea Party.
Dahlia dashed forward with a tiny squeal, jumping into a bright yellow tea cup.
“This one!”
More slowly, London followed, wincing at the truly obnoxious music playing overhead, which threatened to overtake the power of the chimichanga and bring their headache throttling back to the forefront.
But the threat receded when they looked across the teacup to Dahlia, who had her head back, dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she stared at the colorful lanterns hung in the trees, mouth split open in a wide, simple grin.
As the attendant walked through, closing the doors to everyone’s teacups, Dahlia’s chin dropped. And she pointed that grin, full force, toward London, her hands reaching out to grip the wheel.
“Let’s go, Parker.”
London leaned forward, fingers just grazing hers as they held the opposite side of the wheel. They met her gaze, lips twerking despite themself as the ground beneath them began to move. They had never met a challenge with Dahlia Woodson they hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed.
Although as their hands began flipping over each other, both grasping onto the tiny wheel to spin their teacup as fast as possible, it felt a bit like Chef’s Special all over again: London unsure whether they were actually working against each other, or with each other, whether there had ever been a difference, careening on the same silly mission as the world sped by, dizzying, leaving them inside their own blurry little orbit.
Dahlia let out a cry every two seconds as the teacup twirled, half scream, half laughter. Her hair flew around her, somehow elegant in the midst of the tinny music and the clamor of the crowds around them. As if Cinderella’s birds were lifting it into the air in a cartoon dance.
London could only look at her, any words whisked away in the whirl of the ride, their heart once again pushing on their ribcage, overfull, almost painful.
Dahlia stumbled to the side as they stepped down from the yellow teacup, laughing at her lack of balance. London reached out to grab her arm.
“I love you,” they said.
And then they took a sideways-tilting step of their own, and their stomach gave a sudden, angry lurch.
And they dropped Dahlia’s hand as they raced through the crowd to the exit, where they promptly found a Fantasyland garbage can in which to not-so-elegantly throw up.
* * *
“Here.”
Something cool brushed against London’s hair. They opened their eyes, lifting their head from between their knees when they saw Dahlia’s scuffed Chuck’s in front of them. Gratefully, they accepted the cold bottle of water from her hands, even if they grimaced at the label.
“A ten dollar bottle of Dasani. My favorite.”
Dahlia plopped on the ground next to them. “It was only six.”
Dasani or not, nothing had ever tasted better.
“Thank you,” they said once they’d consumed half of it in a few swallows. “I really am feeling better.”
And they really had, as soon as they’d heaved up the entire contents of their stomach in the middle of a huge crowd of people.
Not their most favorite experience they’d ever had.
But they supposed they were owed it from the universe, after the high of last night: a humble reminder that they were still a mere mortal. More than capable of public humiliation.
“In retrospect,” Dahlia said after a moment, “the teacups probably weren’t the best first choice, considering what the reality of your face was telling me.”
“The reality of my face?” London tilted their head toward her, brow furrowed.
“You know.” With an affectionate tug of her lips, she ran a knuckle across London’s cheek. “A little green around the gills.”
London closed their eyes again, more to relish the feeling of that knuckle on their skin than anything else.
“In fairness,” they admitted after a beat, “Space Mountain probably wouldn’t have been any better.”
“No.” They could hear the smile still present in her voice, small but concerned. “What do you need, London? Want to go back to the hotel?”
Their eyes popped open.
“No, Dahlia.” They shook their head, and a fresh wave of confidence rolled over them when the motion barely even hurt their head, their stomach remaining calm. “No way. I swear, I’m good now. Your Disney experience will not be ruined by my poor choices.”
Dahlia bit her lip as she sat back, folding the map out on her lap. Screams and splashes rang out from the Matterhorn behind them.
“Still, we should probably play it easy for a little while. Maybe go see a show? Or…you know what I’d kind of love to do? Even if it might be a little silly.” Dahlia’s eyes shone with renewed excitement as she looked back at London. “Ride the Disney Railroad.”
London shrugged, a smile tipping their lips. “Why not? Sounds perfect.”
There was barely a line for the train, a car ready as soon as they strolled up to the platform in Toontown. Dahlia gripped London’s arm as the train made its slow way through the trees around the edge of Tomorrowland.
“I love trains,” she said. “Whenever we went to Boston, when I was a kid, we’d drive to the commuter rail station in Middleborough and take the train in from there. Sometimes, when my dad wanted to take us on a random day trip, we’d switch lines at South Station, navigating all these weird dark tunnels of the T, until we were on the commuter line going north, up to Salem or Rockport.”
London almost opened their mouth to tell Dahlia about the trip the Parker family had taken to New York and Boston when they were in high school. How all they really remembered was tromping along the Freedom Trail in the rain; the night they and Julie had gotten in a screaming match while waiting in line for cannoli in the North End. Neither of them could remember now what the fight had even been about, but Charlotte had refused to talk to either of them for the rest of the night.
But this felt like Dahlia’s time to reminisce, so London remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. After a minute, her nostalgic smile faded as she shook her head.
“I mostly drove everywhere in Maryland, even though driving in Maryland is almost more of a nightmare than driving in Massachusetts. I did always love taking the Metro whenever we were in DC, but…”
London tried not to wince at the we, the reminder that Dahlia had lived a whole other life before she met them. That she had taken the Metro in DC with David. That she had an ex-husband.
But maybe it was important to remember these things, as they embarked on…whatever they were embarking on, now. A new life together, outside the confines of the show. London wanted to be Dahlia’s partner in all things, and that meant not just figuring out their future, but being able to dwell in their pasts, too. To understand them. To appreciate all the different paths they had each taken, each branch and fork that had brought them to this moment.
The train temporarily slipped into darkness as the railroad passed through covered dioramas of the Grand Canyon and plains full of animatronic dinosaurs, a Disney-ified version of a natural history museum that left London slightly unsettled.
“How are you feeling about it?” London asked once the train entered sunlight again, trying to shake off the screeches of the old dinos. “Leaving Maryland. Being in Massachusetts again.”
“Good,” Dahlia said without hesitation as they approached Main Street Station. “I mean, it’s weird. But I’m ready to move on to whatever’s next. And there’s something about returning to your hometown…” Dahlia shrugged, her face turning wistful. “Kind of reminds you of who you are, you know? What used to be important to you. Which of those things you want to remember. What you’re proud of that you grew through and let go. New England will always be a part of me. Even if I don’t feel a true desire to stay. Even if staying at my dad’s house right now is only sort of a…stopover, I guess, before my next move.”
London held their tongue, literally biting it between their teeth to prevent them from begging Dahlia to start that next move now. To come to Nashville. To be with them, from this moment until forever.
But even if they knew they couldn’t say any of that, even if they knew Dahlia needed space right now to figure herself out, they did have to discuss some of the logistics.
“How long…” They cleared their throat. “How long do you think you’ll stay there?”
“In New Bedford?” Dahlia shrugged again. “I have no idea.” She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but then closed it, staring out at Main Street Station.
To distract themself from saying something they shouldn’t, London retrieved their phone from their back pocket as the train began chugging once more.
“Let’s get off at New Orleans Station,” they said after a few minutes. “We can hit the Haunted Mansion.”
Dahlia peeked over London’s shoulder and gave a dramatic gasp.
“London Parker,” she said. “Did you download the Disney app?”
London shrugged. “It’s convenient.”
“You love Disneyland.”
“It’s aight.”
“You are obsessed. A Mickey fanatic.”
London rolled their eyes as they stuck their phone back in their pocket. “I hope the Haunted Mansion scares the shit out of you.”
“I bet you it makes you scream,” Dahlia said as the train rolled into their station.
“I’ll make you scream,” London muttered as they disembarked.
“Yes, dear.” Dahlia patted their hand. “You will.”
And London crossed their arms as they got into line, trying their hardest to set their mouth in a scowl. But they were pretty sure they were actually grinning.
“Okay.” Dahlia took a deep breath before turning to face them. “Your turn. Something that scares you. Haunted Mansion not included.”
“I’m not scared of the Haunted Mansion.”
Dahlia only arched a brow, crossing her arms to match them.
London let their own arms drop and ran a hand through their hair.
“I’m scared…” They squinted over her shoulder, their mind still stuck in the unfinished conversation on the train. “You won’t like Nashville.”
They glanced at Dahlia’s face to see her open her mouth, kept going before she could speak.
“I mean, not that I’m expecting…you to move to Nashville, or anything; I really would go wherever you wanted to go, to be with you—”
“But,” Dahlia laid a hand on London’s forearm, her eyes soft. “You want to stay in Nashville, if you could. You want me there, too.”
London swallowed.
“Yeah.”
“I know that, London.”
And London supposed that Dahlia had probably known this since that morning, back in a dusty parking lot of a family farm, when Dahlia had asked them about Nashville. Why they loved it, why they wanted to stay there. But that felt like so long ago, and then they’d had that fight, before she’d left the show, and—
London didn’t want to say the wrong thing, this time. Didn’t want to assume, now, that Dahlia would simply follow London home.
“London,” Dahlia said, voice softer than ever. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“Yeah, well.” London ran a hand through their hair again. “I love it, and it’s home, but it’s still…the Tennessee state legislature has been passing so many horrible things lately, and it’s not Massachusetts, you know? Not as easy of a place to exist if you’re…anything other than a straight cis white man.”
“I know,” Dahlia said.
“And it gets really fucking hot, and with climate change, there’s an even greater chance we’ll have more devastating tornados, and—”
“London.” Dahlia squeezed their forearm. “Let me come see, okay? Let me decide for myself.”
Finally, London breathed out.
“Okay.” They met her eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”
She took a step closer to them.
“Know what I’m jazzed as hell about?”
London was almost afraid to ask, with that look in her eye.
“What?”
“Photo albums. Baby photos. Seeing the house you grew up in, when I come to Nashville.” A grin crinkled her cheeks. “Julie’s already told me she’ll make sure I have free access to whatever I want to see.”
London let out a groan as the line shuffled forward. When they were still again, they rested their chin on top of Dahlia’s head.
“You know I feel kind of…conflicted, about some of those photos. From when I was a kid. When I was still figuring stuff out.”
Dahlia leaned her head back to look up at them.
“I know,” she said softly. “But I still want to see them. I want to know your whole story. Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” London tucked her back under their chin. “Yeah, Dahlia. That’s okay.”
And even as they said it—even as they had always known, with Dahlia—it still felt remarkable. A small, only-slightly-overwhelming wave crashing through their system at the fact that it was, in fact, okay.
Dahlia did, predictably, scream throughout the Haunted Mansion, although she followed almost every scream with a small, delighted laugh. It was possible London even jumped a few times, a fact they vehemently denied as they headed toward Adventureland. Mostly just so that Dahlia would keep giving them a hard time.
“Hold up,” London said as they reached the daunting line for Indiana Jones. “You tall enough for this ride, Woodson?”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
A beat passed as they stood at the end of the line.
“I’m tall enough for this ride, right?”
London laughed. “Yes, Dahlia. I’m sure you’re tall enough for this ride.”
But she ran to the front of the line to measure herself by the chart anyway.
“Phew,” she said when she returned. “Close one. Okay. I’m scared about money.”
The laughter fell abruptly from London’s face. This game was starting to give them whiplash.
“I know,” they said.
“It’s just that—” Dahlia cut herself off as she started sweeping her hair into its signature messy nest, placing the headband of her Minnie ears between her teeth as she did so. London’s breath caught in their throat. They were surprised she’d left it down for so long, now that they thought about it. Wondered if she’d left it until now, on purpose, when she most wanted to distract them.
“It’s kind of all I’m currently thinking about.” She nestled the ears back inside her hair, the base of the headband disappearing into its depths so that the sparkly polka-dotted ears seemed to stand on their own. As if they had always been there. “And David and I fought about money quite a lot, and the disparity between him and me wasn’t even as big as…us.”
“Hmm.” London realized they weren’t quite paying attention. They blinked, dragging their eyes away from her hair. “I’m sorry,” they said, feebly.
“You don’t have to be sorry.” Dahlia’s brow creased further. She wasn’t looking at them; she messed with the straps of her bag while her chin came dangerously close to wobbling. London suddenly snapped into full focus, running a hand down her arm.
“Hey,” they said. “It really will be okay.”
“It’s just…important to me to stand on my own.”
“I know,” London said again.
“But I also don’t want to be so stubborn that I stand in our way.”
“I would like that.” London kept staring at her, willing her to look back. They knew she was already trying, letting them pay for everything today, even when they knew she didn’t like it. “We’ll just take things one day at a time, okay? You’ll be safe at your dad’s for a while, and you’ll find a job, I know you will. And I’ll keep on silently wanting to buy you the world but I’ll try not to be annoying about it.”
Finally, Dahlia glanced up at them, a small smile twisting her lips.
“Okay,” she conceded. “Thank you.”
The line inched forward, and with regret, London dropped their hand from her arm.
“This might be the wrong thing to say next,” they said. “But, in a world where we won’t argue at all about money…know what I’m jazzed as hell about?”
The smile grew on Dahlia’s face, still wry, but making its way into her eyes again as she threw London a look. “What?”
“Vacations together,” London said, looking around them at the park. “Like this. Like that weekend we were LA tourists. But like…everywhere else, anywhere we want to go. Scotland. The Bahamas. New Zealand. Or…” They squinted in the sun. They should probably reapply sunscreen soon. “What I think I want most of all are small weekend getaways with you. I want to take you to Gatlinburg, rent some little cabin in the Smokies and not leave it for forty-eight hours. Or take a road trip to New Orleans, or…” They shrugged. “I don’t know. Planning little adventures. Just you and me.”
Dahlia was quiet as the line moved forward. London waited, hoping they hadn’t said the wrong thing at the wrong time.
But eventually, when it was finally almost their turn to step into an Indiana Jones Adventure car, she turned toward them. And her eyes were misty again, but London knew they were happy tears this time when she smiled and said softly, “Yeah. I’m excited for that, too.”
And when the famous sudden drop of the ride hit them ten minutes later, that boulder rushing directly their way, London squeezed Dahlia’s hand and didn’t even try to hide it this time. They screamed, loud and unfettered. Terrified and elated, all at once.
* * *
The lines started to get longer, the heat of the afternoon turning sticky and sweltering by the time they finally made their way to Tomorrowland. It was here, in line for Space Mountain, that it happened.
Dahlia got grumpy.
She had dropped London’s hand when they started reapplying sunscreen, and made no move to take it again when they were done, opting to lean quietly against the barrier next to them instead. London, though, was starting to get amped, some kind of second wind blowing through them. They had forgotten, apparently, how fun amusement park rides actually were. And now they were about to get on Space Mountain, the funnest.
They bounced on the balls of their feet, blathering on about Alan, this guy who hosted a podcast they worked on, back home in their regular life. “And he’s the smartest guy I’ve ever known, probably. He just knows everything about history, politics, whatever. Great storyteller. But the thing is, I just cannot decide whether he’s actually a good person. Could be the greatest guy to ever live, could be an asshole. It’s been driving me nuts.”
London realized at this point that Dahlia was not even pretending to listen.
“And then he just leans forward and sucks himself off, right? I never quite knew if it was possible, but there he was, human fucking pretzel.”
“Mm,” Dahlia murmured. “Pretzels are good.”
“Dahlia.” London started to laugh. “If I really wanted to bore you, I could start talking about the difference between sound editing and sound mixing, if you’d like.”
Dahlia frowned.
“I do want to know that. That sounds interesting.”
London smirked.
“Okay, look. It’s hot, all right? And there are so many people here.” She scratched at her head, where her hair was starting to droop in its bun, sweaty strands sticking to the side of her forehead.
“In August? At Disneyland? No way.”
Dahlia frowned deeper. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. Come on, you have to keep your energy up.” London adjusted the Minnie ears on her head. “Space Mountain, Woodson. Time to look alive.”
Dahlia sighed. “Okay.” A second later: “Also. Maybe I am a little hungry.”
London knew that hangry Dahlia shouldn’t, logically, be making them so happy, but that’s what was happening anyway.
“Well, let’s see.” London scrolled on their phone. “Here in Tomorrowland, we have Redd Rockett’s Pizza Port, the Galactic Grill, and…that’s it.”
Miraculously, a grin made its tired, slow way to the corner of Dahlia’s mouth.
“What?”
“I’m just picturing how annoying and pretentious you probably are about amusement park food.”
London scoffed. “Look, I can appreciate something for what it is, all right? I had that chimi—you know what, I don’t want to talk about that. But I can eat subpar pizza.” And then, after a beat, the reality of that setting in, they added in a mumble, “If I have to.”
Dahlia’s grin grew.
London nudged her forward as the line moved, wrapping their arms around her shoulders, resting their chin on her neck as they shuffled behind her.
“Let’s change the game,” they said. She made a small hmm? noise. “No more things we’re scared of.”
Even though they still had a long list of their own. That the trolls would continue, only get worse after the finale eventually aired. That it would wear at them, no matter how they tried to ignore it. That their own crankiness would come out wrong during fights, that they’d hurt her feelings without meaning to. It had happened to them before, in relationships. They didn’t want to repeat mistakes with Dahlia, but what if they couldn’t change their worst habits? What if they only, in fact, got worse in the pressure of being a semi-public figure?
But there was time enough for all of that. Later.
“Only things we’re excited about, now,” they said into Dahlia’s temple. Felt her nod slightly against their chin.
“All right,” she said. “What else are you excited about, London?”
They kissed her cheek, eyes drifting closed as they held her just a touch closer, for just a moment, before the line moved forward again.
“Everything,” they said.
* * *
They were quiet as they ate their slices of pizza, as they sipped at their fountain sodas.
London looked out the window at the park going by around them, feeling a strange contentment in the not-truly-quiet quiet of their little booth. They thought about all the quiet moments that had added up over the last months, the pockets of time that passed without talking that had contributed to them falling in love. Watching the back of her head, her shoulders during all those early challenges on set. Cooking, later, side by side at their station. All the hours of filming that ticked by, filled only with the constant awareness and comfort of her nearness. Watching her drive their rental car down the PCH, wind blowing her hair. Watching movies in their hotel room until she fell asleep.
Eventually, they nudged her foot under the table when all that was left on their plates were cardboard crusts that London refused to consume.
“Hey.”
She blinked over at them, as if she had fallen halfway asleep.
“What are you thinking? We’ve hit all the essentials, in my opinion. Want to head back to the hotel?”
As soon as the words were out of their mouth, it seemed the only logical course of action. The hotel, where it was quiet. The hotel, where there were beds. Beds where London and Dahlia could pick up where they left off last night, and then—
“Tempting, but—” Dahlia shook her head. “Fantasmic, London.”
London’s back hit the booth as they slumped. She was right. Dahlia had to see Fantasmic.
They looked back out the window again, squinting at the sunshine. Calculating how many hours they still had left until it got dark, until the show got underway.
“You can tell me if this sounds dumb,” Dahlia said after a moment, “but how would you feel about riding the train again for a while?”
London smiled. “Sounds perfect, Dahlia.”
And so London and Dahlia walked to the train stop in Tomorrowland, where they once again boarded the Disneyland Railroad. The shade of the trees and the slow movement of the train provided enough of a breeze to cool their overheated skin. They listened to the conductor give the same spiel they’d heard before, passed by the same dioramas. Dahlia rested her head against London’s shoulder. It was possible that, by the time the train made its way back to Tomorrowland, both Dahlia and London had fallen into a bit of a nap. And so they began the circuit again, and again, another pocket of quiet between them for London to add to their list, as a world of magic passed them by.
* * *
Fantasmic was a dizzying array of lights, music, stunts, pyrotechnics, and hardcore nostalgia. London fought off another yawn as they waited by the Rivers of America for it to begin, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. Dahlia, again, rested her head on their shoulder.
It had been several years since London had been to Disney. Disney World, then: a spring break trip to Florida with some friends in college, a cliché idea of a spring break that London had rolled their eyes at so hard they almost didn’t go.
But then they had. And of course. It had ended up being one of the best times of their life.
And more than anything, they remembered Fantasmic. The spectacle had made even their overly cynical, too-cool-for-the-world college self break down in tears. No matter how they had tried to hide their sniffles from their friends.
They needed Dahlia to see Fantasmic. Even if they were both half-conscious for it.
The lights dimmed.
The music began.
Dahlia lifted her head, and they both straightened their spines, blinking themselves to attention. The crowd around them came to a hush.
And when, not even five minutes into the show, London saw Dahlia wipe away a tear, a grin grew on their face that they couldn’t quite quit. It accompanied a feeling, low in their gut, that they had felt ever since they watched the blue light from a fountain dance off Dahlia’s face. Ever since they had watched her leap into the Pacific in her underwear. Ever since they had first fallen asleep next to her, her hair tickling their face. A feeling warm and steady and alive. A feeling like forever.
By the time Steamboat Willie steered his ship full of characters through the river for the finale, fireworks blazing in the night sky, Dahlia had her head buried in London’s chest, Minnie ears askew.
London rubbed her back, not bothering to hold back their own sniffles, this time.
Dahlia was crying so hard that she stayed frozen where she was, in the comfort of London’s t-shirt, while the spotlights came back on and the crowd began to disperse. Parents and children scampered over their feet on the way out of their row.
Dahlia lifted her head slightly when she heard the bubbly giggling of children.
“London,” she said, eyes wide, “How are these children laughing? Wait.” She looked around them for a moment longer. “London, why are none of the adults crying, either?”
“Fuck if I know.” London wiped at their eyes with the forearm that wasn’t plastered around Dahlia’s shoulder.
Dahlia laughed through her tears.
“Oh my god. Is there something wrong with us?”
London shook their head vehemently, unable to answer in words.
“That was the most emotional thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” A second later, Dahlia added, “I hate Disneyland.”
London kissed her forehead. “Me too.”
After a minute more of watching people walk away while they remained utterly unable to move, London suggested, “Maybe we’re just the only ones here with souls. Or maybe it’s like…a millennial-specific reaction. Are we millennials? I never know. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m talking about millennials.”
Dahlia glanced around them at the emptying viewing area, her tears drying on her sun-kissed cheeks.
“I think it’s more likely,” she observed, “that all of these parents are way too exhausted to care about anything at this point.”
“Dahlia,” London whispered. “I am so fucking tired.”
With valor, Dahlia stood and held out a hand, dragging London up with her. “Let’s go home.”
And London almost laughed. Almost made a joke.
Except the hotel was their home. For a few nights more, at least. Chef’s Special wasn’t footing the bill anymore, but London would stay in the hotel for as long as Dahlia was there.
She dug London’s keys out of her bag as they walked toward the parking lot.
“You sure you’re okay to drive?” London asked. “It’s been a long day, and—”
“London, please.” Dahlia rolled her eyes as they drew closer to the black Nissan. “I don’t know that I trust you even know how to drive at this point. And anyway, the emotional manipulation of Fantasmic gave me some kind of second wind. Man. It’s really hard to say Fantasmic without it feeling naughty.”
“Naughty is good,” London mumbled as they sank into the passenger’s seat. They were down for naughty things. Ready for them. They just needed…to rest their eyes…
Dahlia’s voice was soft as it drifted toward London’s ears, her hand resting, for a moment, on their knee.
“I’ll get us home safe.”
That word again. Home. In the liminal space between waking and sleep, in the streetlights and billboards of Los Angeles beyond the window where London rested their head, it didn’t seem to matter, so much, whether home, for either of them, was Nashville or New Bedford, a hotel room or a slow-moving train. Home, it seemed, was something London had already found, in the quiet spaces, in the warm part of their belly that bloomed whenever Dahlia let herself cry, whenever London let themself smile.
And they knew, before Dahlia had even navigated them onto I-5, that all the things they were jazzed as hell about had already begun. Were already happening. Would be there, again, tomorrow, as long as London was lucky enough to once more open their eyes and see a messy girl with big hair and a big heart, looking back.
Anita Kelly 