Carrigan’s had opened the dam of Miriam’s feelings, and now, she was always talking through them out loud to someone, trying to describe them to herself as much as anyone else, cataloging them as they came pouring out of her. Noelle understanding her was a revelation and a relief. All her life, she’d blamed herself for her parents not understanding how she felt. She’d thought she must be terrible at explaining herself, so she’d stopped trying until she got here.

Maybe she’d always been perfectly fine at it. Her parents just hadn’t been listening.

“I love your butchness,” Miriam said dreamily, overwhelmed by how grateful she was that Noelle was here, with her, sharing these inner pieces of themselves. “I want to start a Butch Appreciation Society.”

“I would prefer you stick to appreciating one butch,” Noelle said seriously.

“I’m satisfied with that.” Miriam’s gaze dropped to Noelle’s mouth and she dragged her eyes away. Mr. Matthews did not want to listen to them make out like teenagers. “Okay, it’s my turn to ask you questions!”

Noelle spread her arms, as if to say, I’m all yours.

“I don’t even know where you grew up,” Miriam said.

“Santa Fe. My hometown is Santa Fe.” The way Noelle said Santa Fe had a certain lilt to it, a softness that Miriam didn’t think Noelle knew was there. Was she homesick? Did she wish she were in the Sangre de Cristos instead of the Adirondacks?

“That’s some culture shock. I love things about here, but I miss the Southwest sometimes,” Miriam admitted. “The beauty, and the history, and the traditions.”

“I get lonely for the mesas sometimes,” Noelle said. “I miss the city itself, you know? Well, maybe you don’t. Nobody misses Phoenix.”

Miriam laughed out loud. It was true. She might miss the desert, the saguaros, the food, but she had never once, in all her life, missed Phoenix.

“Some cities have a soul,” Noelle continued, “and I miss Santa Fe’s. But my life is here now.”

She wanted to know more, everything, all the pieces that had shaped the woman she was now. But she also wanted to parcel the knowledge out, find out a little at a time so she never ran out of morsels.

And for the love of Sappho, she wanted to have some fun. All the time they’d known each other, they’d been learning each other’s trauma histories, existing in crisis mode, living at high alert. So, she made a mental note to come back to Santa Fe, and said instead, “Hey. I have a serious question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“You have a much better reciprocating saw than mine in the work shed. Do you think I can borrow it to work on a piece?” Miriam batted her eyelashes.