Day One Hundred and Eighty-Eight: The Beach Episode

A/N: You might be wondering why they'd go to the beach in November. Well...I'm wondering that same thing.

Counting is hard.

Time is a flat circle.

Elsa rarely ever lets me drive her car. She claims it's because of her anxiety, and that she'd much rather be the one in the driver's seat. But I know it's more because she hates how I drive.

I like going fast.

So, when I told her that we were going on a trip without saying where, and also that I was gonna need her car, she was obviously iffy about it all. Even if she says that she's fine, and that she's more comfortable with me driving, the way she's clutching the overhead grip tells me otherwise.

After a particularly sharp left turn, she lets out a yelp, "Anna! Please be careful!"

"It was a yellow light!" I argued, "I had to do it."

"When did it turn yellow?"

I scan the mirrors, checking to see if any cops are behind us. The coast is pretty clear, and I pout at Elsa as we drive down our fairly open road, "Look, do you wanna get there on time or not?"

"I want to get there alive! And where are we going? You haven't told me anything, Anna." She might sound annoyed, but I know that she's got the patient of a saint. And I told her this was a good surprise, so the look on her face- when I glance at it before focusing back on the road like a good driver- is more intrigued than frustrated.

Though I probably shouldn't push it, I tell myself as I pat the top of her head, "We're almost there, don't worry your pretty, little head."

As you can tell, I'm also getting bolder in my touches and comments. But that's mainly because, well, so is Elsa. I mean maybe I'm just looking too much into it due to the resurgence of my big-ass lesbian crush on her, but she's definitely more touchy than before.

She gives me quick hugs before work, leans on me while we're watching movies, texts me dumb shit throughout the day even if we're like five feet apart. Gosh, you help a girl through one anxiety attack…

Don't get me wrong, it's cute and I love it, and maybe I should be content with what we are right now.

But damn it, I want more.

I want her.

Elsa pouts and retouches her little hair swoop, and adjusts her blindfold- oh yeah, I made her wear a blindfold too, so as to not ruin the surprise. "Annaaaaaaa," she whined.

"Whaaaaaat?"

"...it's itchy."

There's, finally, a road sign up ahead that says "Veroa Beach- 5 Miles". I smile and merge into the right lane, "You can take it off soon. Or, you know, just stick a finger in there and scratch your eye."

She snorts, it's adorable. The drive from then on consists of her guessing where we're going, sensing that me slowing down must mean we're almost there. "I mean, you could've at least gotten a more comfortable blindfold."

"I wasn't about to spend more than five dollars on something I was only gonna use once." Probably. Hopefully? I don't know, I can't see into the future.

A couple more turns, and the final stretch towards the pier is finally in sight. I say this a lot, but it really is one of the best views in the city. Slanted houses packed like books in a bookcase line the left side, niche stores like a taffy shop and a boogie board rental are on the right side. Imported palm trees are placed along the street divider, swaying from the autumn breeze. And at the end of the line, the sturdy, wooden pier extends along the horizon.

When the sun sets, it lines up perfectly with the end of the pier.

Knowing she'd kill me if I didn't let her see this view, I finally tell Elsa, "Okay, you can take it off now."

"Really?"

"Yes, hurry up! You'll miss it!"

"Ah! Okay okay!" She takes off her blindfold with the tact and grace of a blind monkey and rubs her eyes to see more clearly. She gasps, "Wait, are we…"

I nod.

And she lets out the most uncharacteristic, giddy squeal I've ever heard.

The best part about going to Veroa Beach is that we've been here so many times, that planning out what to do is a non-factor. Which puts less pressure on me, because planning this day out would have skated too close to date territory. And the last thing I'd want to do is let Elsa think I have feelings for her.

That'd be stupid. Why would I want that?

We walk along the sand-scattered sidewalks, exiting our first destination: a saltwater taffy shop. Elsa has this weird obsession with the stuff, which never made sense to me and still doesn't. It tastes like really thick chalk, and gets stuck in my teeth. But she loves it, and that's all that matters.

She always gets the blue and white ones too, as per her aesthetic, and she unwraps one of the blue cubes and chews on it. "Muh fuh?" she asks while holding the bag out to me. I talk with my mouth full too, so I'm not a prude about it, but Elsa typically doesn't do that because she has this silly thing called "manners".

So, her throwing manners out the window already tells me that she's feeling pretty carefree. The beach is having a faster effect on her than I thought.

I shake my head, "Come on Elsa, you know me."

Elsa swallows, "I know, just thought today was finally the day. That's all."

That, of course, piques my interest. "Any reason you think that?"

"Is there any reason you suddenly wanted to go to Veroa Beach in November?" Elsa retorts, and I should have seen that coming.

Luckily I did, and I came up with a few handy excuses. The first one being: "I wanted funnel cake."

At the end of the boardwalk, aside from a gorgeous view of the sunset, was a small amusement park with food, games, and a Ferris wheel shaped like a big circle. One of the food vendors sold this amazing deep-fried cake batter with powdered sugar and topped with strawberries. It is one of my all-time favorite foods, and I would have it for every meal for the rest of my life if I wanted to die from heart failure in two weeks.

Elsa knows very well how much I love those fried fuckeries, and also knows that I will spontaneously drive to Veroa Beach for them no matter what time it is.

She smiles and shakes her head, "You and your funnel cake addiction."

"It's only an addiction if it's bad for you."

Elsa looked at me puzzled and said, "That's definitely not true." before indulging in her taffy addiction.

My perfectly crafted lie would work better if we were actually going to the boardwalk instead of away from it, but we're not. Yet. It'd also help if I wasn't so conscious about how much I wanted Elsa to like this trip.

"But I mean...just so I know, do you like being here? Is it nice being back in Veroa?"

Elsa sighed, "Anna, I thought we got past feeling awkward about going to our previous date spots."

"Ugh, not what I meant." Although, now that she mentions it, it doesn't feel awkward going to places with her anymore. I mean right now it does because I'm trying stupidly hard not to think of this as a date, but Elsa doesn't need to know that. That's a personal problem. "I'm just wondering if you like being back here."

"You know I love going to the beach," she replies with a calm smile. "Especially Veroa. Lotta good memories."

"Yeah. Remember that time we tried planning a picnic out here?"

"And then those kids stole our sandwiches?"

"And the parents got mad at us because we didn't tell their kids one of the sandwiches had tomato?"

Elsa giggled, "I honestly thought you were gonna get in a fight with the mom."

I scoff, "Fucking Karen…"

"Buuuut, if our picnic was never ruined, I would have never found out how much I loved saltwater taffy." Elsa picks up another piece for emphasis and points it at me. " And we never would have found our spot."

"Can we still call it that?" Goddamn it, Anna. That sounds like you're trying to bring up old shit again.

But Elsa surprises me, like always, when she just shrugs and says, "I have no problems calling it that if you don't."

I don't know what that means. I mean that could mean anything but I'm not sure what that means to me, let alone what it means to Elsa. Maybe it means that she's secretly flirting with me and I should respond the same way, or maybe she means that in a more neutral, "everything's okay between us" kind of way. In which case, I shouldn't say anything that'd mean anything too...meaningful.

Do you know what I mean?

Because I fucking don't.

I push all of those dumb thoughts aside as I steal one of Elsa's taffy pieces and say, "No problems here."

Another thing: I didn't want her to over-prepare for the beach, so I just told her to wear something warm and comfy. Apparently, she took that to mean "wear the cutest denim shorts and dorkiest shirt you have".

The denim's got those intentional fadings and tears and go down to her mid-thigh. She's gotten so much more confident showing off her legs, and I'm happy (in more ways than one). Her shirt is two sizes too big, and she's tied the bottom of it into a knot around her hips. It's got a picture of a cow on it with a caption that says, "MOO-D".

In comparison, I'm wearing unripped jeans, a thick cotton shirt, and my birthday leather jacket. Because it's fucking November, and I actually get cold.

Elsa's walking across a stone bench, hands outstretched as if she's on a tightrope. Going here was definitely a good idea, I haven't seen her this relaxed in a very long time. While the memory of her anxiety attack is still fresh, it's being gradually pushed away by this. By watching her use my shoulder to brace herself as she steps off the bench.

We've finally made it to "our spot", one of the very few empty areas of the beach when we went on our picnic- because we made the dumb mistake of going to the beach on a weekend in the summer.

It's too far from the shore, a little too close to the street, and one time I found a used condom in the sand, but it's our spot. And we make do.

Elsa takes off her shoes and socks before sitting gingerly on the sand, I sit cross-legged and keep my shoes on in case I need to kick anybody. "Sure wish I wore my sandals today," she said.

I give her a sheepish smile, "Sorry. I wanted to keep it a surprise."

"No, I'm glad you did. I like being surprised, as long as it's a good one."

"That's good. Although, you know we're just gonna do the same thing we always do whenever we're here."

"I don't mind that a single bit, every time we come here it's always good." Why does she keep saying such cute shit like this? "But I am surprised, I've been thinking of going here for a while- possibly even alone- and then this happened."

I shrug and give her a bit of the truth, "You've been stressed out a lot lately, and I wanted to help. I wanted to do something besides holding you." Even though I wouldn't mind doing that more.

She giggles, "Sorry I'm so touchy-feely."

I'm about to protest her apologizing again, but then I pick up that that's supposed to be a joke. I think, right now my mind's too busy pulling me back to my wanting to touch her. Appropriately.

"But I am grateful," Elsa continues. "You've been an amazing help."

Ugh, damn it I really hope I'm not blushing. Somehow she's the only one that ever knows when I'm blushing and when we're this close it'll be so easy to tell. I need to get us back on track, we don't just sit on our spot to get all sappy and emotional.

I point to a person off in the distance, a guy in cargo pants and no shirt waving around a metal detector, "So that guy, what's his story?"

Elsa purses her lips and makes a humming noise. One of our favorite things to do here is people watch. I would always point at a random person on the beach and ask Elsa to figure out a whole life story for them. It's cute and entertaining, and Elsa loves doing it because it exercises her writer muscles or whatever.

"Got it," she exclaims. "His name's Jared, age thirty-four. He grew up in a very small, conservative town where your career options were either a farmer or a policeman. Fed up with it all, he saved up enough money to rent an RV and travel the world with it. Arendelle's his next pit stop, he makes money selling whatever he can find on the beach. One day, when curiosity gets the best of him, he'll go back home and see just how much it's grown without him. Or maybe it was bigger than he thought, it was just his dreams that were too small."

I nod, "Very impressive. I especially like how you wrapped it all up in a very depressing bow." I scan the beach for another victim, finally pointing at a young couple kissing underneath the boardwalk. "How about those two?"

Elsa scoffs, "Too easy. That's a textbook summer fling."

"In November?"

"Hey let me finish!" Elsa shimmies a little bit as if to reset her momentum. "The girl's name is Emma, the boy's name is...let's say Killian. The boy goes to a school thousands of miles away, and his family only comes here during the holidays. One day, he meets Emma out here on the beach over the summer and they hit it off and spark that young love, summer romance kind of thing. They both agree to not do long-distance, until the last day that Killian's here where Emma changes her mind and wants to be with him, despite the odds. Unfortunately, he leaves before that can happen. A couple of years later, though, Killian returns and they pick up exactly where they left off. On the beach, where it all started."

"Goddamn Elsa, you are way too good at this," I say.

She beams at me, "I know, right? It's almost like I write stories for a living."

I groan, "Your sarcasm's too good. You're hanging out with me too much."

She lightly smacks my arm and gasps, "No I'm not! Don't say that!"

By the end of the day, I feel satisfied for two reasons.

One, I finally got my funnel cake and it was, obviously, delicious. And two, I timed the day perfectly so we'd be at the end of the boardwalk during sunset.

We're not alone, though, because of course everyone at the beach had the same idea, but we have a spot to ourselves that we've been to countless times. Right on the side of the tent where you play that game with the bottles and baseballs. Semi-away from everybody, but still with a good view of the ocean.

And Elsa loves the ocean.

She lets out a sigh, "Perfect." She's sitting calmly, cross-legged right next to me.

It'd be perfect for me too if my butt wasn't freezing. But again, today isn't about me.

The waves are higher and louder, barely starting to dissipate when they hit the wooden supports. The last rays of sunlight give the sky an orange glow, and the wind's picked up significantly. We should leave now before the traffic gets any worse, but of course neither of us do.

It's silent for a moment, I don't have anything else I wanna say right now- keeping my burning confession to myself because it'd fuck things up if I didn't. But then she nudges my shoulder with her arm to get my attention. "What's up?" I ask.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you, it just keeps slipping my mind."

"Shoot."

Elsa takes a second to smile at me before looking back at the sunset, soaking in every bit of it. "Why do you want to win this competition?"

The way she asks this catches me by surprise. I might be looking too much into it, but I think she's confident that we're gonna make it to the end.

But her question's a hard one. Half a year later and it's still hard for me to admit why exactly I emailed her that day instead of going about my business, jumping to another shitty job and shittier apartment.

Here goes nothing.

"My dad cut me off. Completely."

Whatever curiosity she had on her face, and the confidence that I thought I saw, dissolves faster than the waves, "O...oh. Anna, I'm so sorry."

I shrug, "Yeah, well...he ended up siding with step-bitch after a really nasty fight we had. Didn't give me a warning or an ultimatum or anything, just one day I had money and then the next day I didn't. I've been on my own just trying to live ever since, and it's been exhausting. And defeating. When I get the money, I'm gonna save as much of it as I can, find a better place, and get a better job. Make a better life, you know?"

Elsa's frown is sympathetic, and the next thing I know she's putting her arm around me and giving me one of those awkward looking side-hugs. I let it happen, of course I do. It's nice being held by her for a change, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

And she doesn't even have to say anything, I don't expect her to. This is enough, and I know that she knows that. But to keep from dwelling on my sad existence, I ask her the same thing, "Why do you want to win?"

"Well aside from giving some it to my parents, I think I finally wanna get out of Arendelle. At least on a vacation. The last time my family went outside the city I was still a baby, and I wanna see the world."

"See the world…" I repeat, as I gently remove myself from her arms so that my mind will stop hammering in unhelpful thoughts like kissing her. "That sounds nice too."

"Well then maybe you should do the same."

Or maybe I should go with you.

When Elsa's eyes don't widen, I realize that I succeeded in keeping that to myself. Which is good, I think I've finally gotten the hang of that. The thought of traveling the world with Elsa, having days like today every day, sounds like a dream.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh shit.

The evening glow illuminates Elsa's face just right, like a bronze-colored aura that strikes me harder than a semi-truck. "But I guess we're jumping the gun. We've still got half a year, right?" she says with that calm, sweet voice.

"Right…" I say with what's hopefully an innocent smile.

"And we've got this. We totally do." Elsa pats my knee, gives me a smile too.

Maybe a few months ago, a few days ago, hell even a minute ago I would have said that I could handle this next half of a year. But I'm not so sure anymore that we can.

No, I'm not sure if I can.

Because while I do have that overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss her, another thought is winning and drowning it out: I failed.

I, Anna Reinhart, have done the one thing I told myself was impossible, something I said I would never do, something that jeopardizes not just the contest but our relationship as a whole.

I've fallen in love with Elsa Stark again.