Chapter Text
Barbara Howard has been feeling rather stupid lately, and she doesn’t care for it one bit.
Not in the traditional sense, of course. She’s a well-educated woman, worldly and knowledgeable on a number of wide-ranging topics.
But lately, she has these… urges. To say or do specific things that would be silly to say or do. Like she suddenly has the embarrassingly poor impulse control of someone several decades younger than her seasoned years.
And even more embarrassing, her compulsion towards stupidity always seems strongest when Melissa Schemmenti is around.
“I can’t believe it. Seriously, I can’t believe it,” Melissa groans one afternoon, flopping into her chair beside Barbara in the teacher’s lounge.
Barbara tamps down on her first impulse (to wrap Melissa comfortingly in her arms and gently stroke her hair while their coworkers look on in bafflement) and just as quickly, on her second (to ask Melissa the name of whoever has upset her, so she can figure out how to deal with them personally). Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“What’s wrong?” Barbara asks instead, taking Melissa’s lunch and moving to heat it up for her in the microwave to give her hands something to do.
(Food always improves Melissa’s mood anyways.)
“I’ve shaken every tree, called in a dozen favors, reached out to every connection I’ve got, and I still can’t score tickets to the Super Bowl!”
Barbara makes a sympathetic noise. She knows Melissa has spent the last few weeks trying to find an in to the game. Honestly, it hasn’t even occurred to Barbara that she might not be able to; the redhead has always been the most resourceful person she knows.
“Do you know how many cannoli I’ve tried to fill? How much pesto I’ve pushed? How many shells I’ve offered to stuff?”
“I hope that’s not a euphemism.”
“I’m serious Barb. What’s the point of being an Eagles fan if you can’t support the guys in the biggest game of all?”
“Surely the tickets aren’t completely unavailable,” Barbara offers, trying to raise her spirits.
“I mean, there are some out there. But I’d have to sell my house to pay for them,” Melissa says dejectedly.
And instead of blurting out something silly like You can just live with me, Barbara simply wraps her arm around Melissa’s shoulders, gives her a comforting squeeze, and encourages her to eat her lunch.
It seems much less stupid, by comparison, to call in a few favors of her own.
/ /
When Barbara scores Super Bowl tickets, she feels on top of the world. It is the satisfaction of a job well done, a seemingly impossible task completed, an insurmountable obstacle overcome, that leaves her feeling like she’s on cloud nine all the way up until game day.
It surely has nothing to do with Melissa’s surprise and delight when Barbara reveals the news. That is simply the icing on the cake of her triumph of resourcefulness and resolve.
(So what if she lies awake at night, thinking about how Melissa threw her arms around Barbara’s waist and held her so tightly her lungs hurt? About the big, ear-splitting grin she wore every day since, or the way she bragged to anyone who would listen about how Barbara managed to score tickets for them?)
She’s allowed to be proud of this.
Decked out in their Eagles finest, Barbara and Melissa settle into their nosebleed seats ahead of kickoff.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t manage anything closer,” Barbara says apologetically.
“Shut up. This is perfect, and you’re amazing for getting us here,” Melissa answers, squeezing her arm. “LET’S GO EAGLES!” she turns and yells into the crowd, raising up a cheer from surrounding fans.
She spins back around grinning widely at Barbara, who thinks she may be right. She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect in this moment than the pure, unfiltered joy on Melissa’s face.
The trouble with perfection, though, is that it is impossible to sustain.
In fact, the game’s still in the first quarter when things take a turn. Not on the field, but in the stands.
“Melissa, look!” Barbara elbows the other woman sharply.
Barbara points to the jumbotron, where Melissa is now on screen… along with a bunch of tiny hearts, and the phrase Kiss Cam.
“Oh!” Melissa jumps with excitement at seeing herself on the screen at the big game. “Oh,” she says again, taking in the curly pink writing and who is sharing the screen with her.
Because it is definitely not Barbara.
Whomsoever is calling the shots for the kiss cam is clearly incompetent, because they’ve thrown Melissa up on screen with the complete stranger sitting to her left.
And the man — the boy couldn’t be older than 35. Why would Melissa be here with him? Not that Barbara is disparaging the general concept of an age-gap romance. It just seems to make more sense to put herself and Melissa on screen, doesn’t it? Aren’t they clearly here together? The heteronormativity of it all, Jacob would say.
Barbara feels a burning indignation ignite in her chest.
Melissa, for her part, doesn’t seem to have any of Barbara’s hangups about the whole affair. Shaking off her initial surprise, she turns to offer the stranger a quick peck on the cheek — only to have him lay a very enthusiastic kiss right on her lips.
All around Barbara, the crowd cheers. The noise echoes dully in her skull, pounding behind her eyes.
“Alright, easy there, tiger,” Melissa says with a chuckle, pushing the stranger back firmly, but not unkindly. He blushes bright red.
She turns to give Barbara an amused look, like Get a load of this guy.
Barbara is not amused.
“Young man!” she snaps sharply, quickly drawing his attention (and the attention of a few others as well). “Just what do you think you are doing?”
“Um…”
“Barbara,” Melissa says quietly, tone cautious.
“Hasn’t anyone taught you the importance of consent? Of basic respect and decency? Of boundaries and propriety?”
“I, uh —”
“What exactly do you have to say for yourself?”
“I — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — I mean I did mean to , but I didn’t — I wasn’t — ” the guy splutters, a little tipsy, a little shell-shocked from kissing the Philly 11 next to him, and a little afraid of the downright murderous look he’s now getting from her companion. “Sorry!”
“Well, don’t tell me sorry,” Barbara seethes.
“It was just a kiss for the camera, Barb, it’s no big deal, don’t give the kid a hard time —”
“No, Melissa, I need this boy to understand what he’s done,” Barbara cuts her off, voice raising with the kind of passion and righteousness one only develops after over half a century of Sunday services and repression.
“Ma’am,” a new voice chimes in, but Barbara barely registers it.
“Why don’t you stick to kissing who you came here with!” she continues indignantly.
“Mikey?” The guy says, casting an incredulous glance over at his friend. “I don’t want to kiss Mikey.”
“Harsh, bro,” Mikey replies.
“Well, you need to understand that we can’t all go around kissing people just because we want to! That’s not how the world works! There are — there are rules — and, and —”
“Ma’am. We’re going to need you to come with us.”
Barbara whirls around in her seat to see two stadium officials looking at her wearily. Next to her, Melissa curses under her breath.
Which is when Barbara realizes that she is now standing and berating a very bewildered and apologetic young man, and making enough of a racket to draw the eyes of everyone in the section.
So. It seems stupidity won out, after all.
//
Barbara Howard has never been to jail.
She still hasn’t, of course, because this random room where she has been escorted by stadium security is not by any means comparable to a prison.
But it is certainly the closest she’s ever come — as Land Barbara anyways — and the whole ordeal makes her flush with shame.
Deeply embarrassed by her outburst and desperately needing to gather her thoughts alone, Barbara shook off Melissa when she tried to follow, insisting she sit and watch the game she had so wanted to attend.
Now, left alone with her unresolved feelings and guilty conscience, Barbara isn’t sure what to do next.
Stupid, she chastises herself, pacing wearily around the room. But just as quickly comes an internal rebuttal: Honest.
And that really is the problem, isn’t it?
Barbara keeps telling herself she’s being silly and impulsive lately. But that’s a lie.
She’s been lying to herself and lying to Melissa, weaving a tangled web of carefully constructed deceptions and misrepresentations and omissions to preserve their status quo, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can keep doing it. Not with this thing, this honesty bubbling up inside her, threatening to explode at any given moment, casualties be damned.
The trouble is, she’s been lying to herself for so long, she’s not even sure how to begin being truthful. How to admit what she wants. (Melissa.) How to ask for what she needs. (Melissa.) How to let go of Past Barbara and take a step forward. (With Melissa.)
Okay, so maybe the web she weaves isn’t so tangled after all.
There just happens to be one woman at the center who Barbara can’t live without, but doesn’t know how to live with anymore. Not like this anyway. Not without doing something about these feelings, these impulses. Not without —
A soft knocking interrupts her pacing and racing thoughts.
“Psst,” comes a voice from the other side of the door. “Barbara? Are you in there?”
Melissa doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, just opens the door a crack and pokes her head in. She glances around the room. When her eyes find Barbara, she grins widely.
“Come on, baby. Let’s blow this joint,” she winks.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be watching the game,” Barbara replies, surprised.
“And you’re supposed to be watchin’ it with me. So let’s go!”
Melissa reaches out to usher Barbara out the door, but the other woman doesn't budge.
“How did you even get in here? Isn’t there security outside?”
“Okay, it’s a ‘guest cooldown room,’ not Guantanamo Bay,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “You were basically sent to adult time out.”
Barbara raises an eyebrow.
“Fine. I also texted Ava to come distract security for us,” Melissa says sheepishly. “I’d love to be able to maintain my aura of mystery, but I know she’s gonna blab about it, so I might as well come clean.”
“Ava’s here?”
“Yeah, I saw her tweeting about it earlier.”
“That woman is terminally online.”
“Yup,” Melissa agrees, popping the P dramatically. “And notoriously unreliable, so I really think we should clear out, you know, ASAP.”
Barbara hesitates, thinking about how she landed herself in “adult time out” to begin with. Could she really do it? Be honest with Melissa, even if it would change everything?
Melissa frowns, appearing to misinterpret Barbara’s hesitance.
“Barb, about the whole kiss cam thing… I hope you know I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just a little fun. Part of the game, you know? It’s lame when people don’t participate,” Melissa insists, eyes imploring Barbara to understand.
“Obviously you can’t not do the kiss cam when you’re put on the kiss cam,” Barbara waves her off. “I may not be as much of a sporting aficionado as you, but I’m not completely uncultured."
“Okay, so… you’re not mad at me?”
Barbara looks at her, surprised.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
Melissa opens her mouth, pauses, and then shrugs.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I guess I’m just in my head about it. C’mon.”
This time, Barbara lets the redhead grab her hand and pull her out the door.
Slinking down the deserted hallway, they pass completely unnoticed — until they round the corner and run right into one Ava Coleman.
“Oh hey there jailbird,” Ava grins widely at Barbara.
Barbara sighs deeply. She is never going to live this down.
“Ava. I didn’t know you would be here. You certainly didn’t mention it at work.”
“Well, you know me. I don’t like to brag.”
Barbara and Melissa exchange identical looks of disbelief.
“I was working my ass off to get tickets, and Barbara had to work her magic to get them in the end,” Melissa says. “How’d you get in?”
“Oh, I’m seeing one of the players,” Ava replies nonchalantly. “And one of the refs. And two of the cheerleaders.” She wiggles her eyebrows lasciviously.
“‘Course you are,” Melissa snorts.
“Don’t hate the player, Schemmenti.”
Melissa raises both her hands in a surrender motion.
“Look, I saw a bathroom back there in the restricted area. As long as we’re breakin’ the rules a little anyways, I’m goin’ where there’s no line. Barbara?”
Barbara shakes her head, declining to follow — a decision she regrets almost instantly, because as soon as the door swings shut behind Melissa, Ava pounces.
“So, I saw your girl up there on the kiss cam. How’d you blow an opportunity like that?”
“Ex-excuse me?” Barbara splutters. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Nah, we’re not still doing this, for real? You just got into a fight and went to Super Bowl Jail for that woman!”
“That’s — I mean, that’s not exactly what —”
“Girl, please. My time is valuable. You better leave Denial in Egypt.”
Ava fixes her with a hard stare, and Barbara sighs. Admittedly, denial has proven itself an unsustainable position thus far.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she finds herself admitting. “I just — when I saw him kiss her, I…”
Barbara shakes her head.
“I blew it. Big time. Okay? Are you happy now?”
“Barbara Howard, admitting she’s wrong? Makes me wanna sing a little,” Ava flashes a teasing grin. “Oh happy day…” she begins in her best gospel voice.
“Oh, cool it, Sister Act.”
The muffled sound of an automatic hand dryer fills the air, signaling Melissa’s imminent return.
For some reason Barbara will never understand, Ava suddenly looks serious.
“Look…” she begins hesitantly. “Don’t worry about how badly you fumbled this. I think you’re gonna get another shot tonight. Just be ready this time, ‘kay?”
“Be ready for what?” Barbara asks, brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Don’t say I never did nothing for you!” Ava calls over her shoulder as she leaves.
And strangely enough, it makes Barbara feel a little less stupid, and a little more hopeful.
/ /
When Barbara and Melissa arrive back at their seats, they get a couple nosy stares. But Melissa’s glare has warded off many a lingering gaze before, so no one says anything. Soon, they’re all too wrapped up in what’s going on down on the field to care anyways.
The women scream and cheer for their Eagles until they’ve both all but forgotten the earlier fiasco.
That is, until one of the teams calls a time out, and the kiss cam rears its ugly head again.
And somehow, inexplicably, Melissa is once again on screen with the wrong person.
“Oh my God, they’ve got an entire freakin’ stadium full of people to choose from, are you kiddin’ me?” Melissa mutters.
She halfheartedly raises her hand over her face, knowing it can’t do much to block herself from view, and instinctively shifts in her seat to lean closer to Barbara.
(Barbara notes with satisfaction that the young man to her side is staring determinedly in the opposite direction, staunchly refusing to acknowledge Melissa or his own appearance on the jumbotron.)
And, well. Despite her hesitance to change the status quo and the nerves twisting her stomach into knots and the way her thoughts race with the potential consequences of her next action, Barbara knows she can’t let the opportunity pass her by a second time.
“Melissa,” Barbara says simply, drawing the woman’s attention up from her lap.
Melissa raises her eyes to meet Barbara’s. Her mouth drops open a little, and Barbara imagines it’s due to the intensity of her own stare.
“Melissa…” she repeats, leaning in closer, not breaking their eye contact for a second.
“Barb? What are you doing?”
She sounds a little breathless. A little nervous. Like she’s asking a question, but deep down she already knows the answer.
Barbara knows the feeling.
“I’m trying something new,” she replies, leaning closer still.
“Kiss cams or women?” Melissa quips — a deflection, a last-minute out, a lifeline for Barbara to latch onto with a laugh and a deflection of her own.
Barbara shakes her head, reaching up to gently cup Melissa’s face between her hands.
“Honesty.”
And she kisses Melissa Schemmenti under the glare of the stadium lights and the watchful gaze of 100 million people.
(Elsewhere in the stadium, Ava watches it all go down on the jumbotron. “Tongue?! Barbara Howard, you dog!” she cackles, already thinking of all the ways she’s going to remix this moment on TikTok later.)
When Barbara eventually pulls back, she experiences three whole seconds of bliss before she opens her eyes and her stomach drops in a panic.
Melissa’s just staring at her, stunned and unmoving.
Barbara opens her mouth to say something, but the words don’t come out. After all this, what could she say? If she’s finally accepted her own truth, only to realize it clashed with Melissa’s? How could she ever —
“Wow,” Melissa says, and her cheeks are beautifully flushed, and she’s smiling at Barbara with the same adoring familiarity she always does, and with something else that Barbara doesn’t have a name for yet but instinctively understands.
“I like your kinda honesty, Barb.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Barbara feels the knots in her stomach unwind. The grin stretching across her face almost certainly qualifies as stupid, but she doesn’t care. Not when Melissa’s looking at her like that. Not when they’re still sitting so close, they’re practically sharing the same breath.
“I would very much like to continue being honest with you,” she murmurs, and hopes that it’s enough for now. That the woman across from her will understand.
“Yeah. That — that sounds great,” Melissa answers breathlessly.
“I don’t want you to kiss anyone else,” Barbara adds bluntly.
“Just you,” Melissa quirks a knowing smile, and pulls Barbara in eagerly to kiss her again.
/ /
As fate — or just the most convenient flight path to back to Philadelphia — would have it, Barbara encounters a familiar face in the airport the next day.
“Well, look who it is, little Miss Kiss Cam! I should have known you were freaky. Church girls always are.”
“That is highly inappropriate, Ava,” Barbara hisses, glancing around to make sure no one is listening.
“I think what you meant to say is ‘Thank you Ava. I’m so grateful, Ava. You’ve forever altered the course of my life, Ava.’”
“Why would I thank you? You had one job, and you didn’t even get the camera on me!”
“Uh, yeah, that was intentional, obviously? You needed a do-over. And it’s so much more dramatic to take the spotlight than to just have it given to you. Dramatic is romantic,” Ava says, winking. “So, you’re welcome.”
Barbara casts her gaze to the sky, imploring the Good Lord to fortify her in this moment.
“This is the last time I allow you to assist in matters of the heart,” she mutters.
Ava snorts.
“I mean, yeah, I sure hope so. I’m set-up, you’re follow-through. If you blow it at this point, that’s kinda on you.”
The school principal tosses her hair over her shoulder and begins to make her exit, just as Melissa returns from the Dunkin’ Donuts line, coffees in hand.
“Ms. Schemmenti-if-you’re-nasty,” Ava nods in greeting as they pass.
“And don’t you forget it,” Melissa intones back, amused.
Melissa slides into the chair next to Barbara, nudging her shoulder playfully and passing her a cup.
“Ava wanted to let me know she saw us yesterday,” Barbara says, clearing her throat nervously. “On the…”
“Kiss cam, I know. We’re all over her TikTok.”
Barbara groans.
“Hey, look at it this way,” Melissa continues, grabbing Barbara’s hand and pulling it into her lap. “The big announcement’s outta the way. Now we just get to… be. Together.”
“I like the sound of that,” Barbara says softly. She looks tenderly at the other woman before pressing a kiss shyly to her cheek.
“I have SO many unread texts from Janine right now though,” she mutters into Melissa’s neck.
“Oh my God, I know.”