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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (21/23)

Chapter summary: Christmas Eve; A person from Wanda's past prompts another bout of jealousy in you; Wanda surprises you with a Christmas present; You and Pietro talk it out after the festivities

Chapter word count: 7.5k+ | Tags: Mild Angst, Healing, Comfort | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: The second part of Christmas in LA. We continue wrapping up some relationships. Enjoy! :)

AO3 | Masterlist

Next part: Twenty-two

Twenty-One

Christmas Eve

The ride with Shannon begins in an uneasy silence. With the only sound being the hum of the car and the occasional directions from the GPS, the quietness feels heavy, making your palms sweat against the leather steering wheel.

��We need to pick up groceries first, then dry cleaning, and oh, there's a new shop selling artisanal cheese I've been dying to try,” she reels off her list of errands, her tone light and almost jovial, easing some of the tension in the car.

However, as the silence descends once again, there's a question that's been burning on your tongue since you stepped into her house, and it seems like the perfect opportunity to ask it.

“Shannon,” you start, your voice sounding unusually loud in the quiet car, “This might be a strange question, but...did you recognize me when I walked into your office for that interview at Stark Industries?”

There's a momentary pause, and you worry you've crossed some invisible line. But then Shannon chuckles, a light, easy sound, that oddly enough, puts you at ease.

“Well, I was wondering when you would ask,” she admits with a smirk. “Yes, I recognized you. But I didn't want to make things awkward by bringing it up.”

As you reach the grocery store and park the car, Shannon turns to you, offering a grateful smile. “Thanks for helping out, Y/N. It's been quite hectic with the preparations and all.”

On the way back, you spot a small coffee shop nestled between a bookstore and a flower shop. The sign in the window catches your eye–'Single Origin Beans' it reads, and you remember your conversation with Wanda on the plane.

“Shannon," you blurt out without taking your eyes off the signage. “Would you mind if we stop by that coffee store over there? I'd love to check out some of their beans."

She looks over to where you're pointing, and her face lights up in approval. “Oh, I've heard fantastic things about this place. Let's go.”

As you pull over, you can't help but think about Wanda and her upcoming competition, hoping that this little detour might just be the secret ingredient she needs to make her mark at the Cup-off.

As you and Shannon step into the shop, you are immediately enveloped by a blend of heady aromas–nutty, smoky, and unmistakably coffee. The smell is intoxicating, and you can't help but breathe it in deeply.

A world map on one wall is dotted with markers showing where their beans are sourced–Ethiopia, Colombia, Kenya, Indonesia, Guatemala, and more.

Shannon seems equally impressed, her eyes taking in the array of beans displayed in glass jars behind the counter, each labeled with its country of origin and tasting notes. She glances back at you, her gaze curious.

“You're into coffee as well?” she asks, opening a particular jar to sniff at its contents.

“Well, I love it. I’m the original coffee drinker between the two of us,” you clarify. “But I’m looking mainly for Wanda. She's the enthusiast. I'm... more of the support crew.”

“So Wanda only started drinking coffee because of you?”

“I suppose you could say that,” you say, your mind drifting back to an amusing memory of one of your early dates with Wanda. She had attempted to impress you by ordering your favorite drink, not realizing it was a bold concoction of three shots of espresso and nothing else. “Although I don’t think she enjoys drinking it as much as I do. It's more of a part of her daily routine now.”

A smile spreads across Shannon's face as she shakes her head. You give her a funny look and ask, “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Shannon shrugs off your question. “That girl is so head over heels for you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Why would you say that?”

“She's taken something she's passionate about and turned it into something impactful. Something enjoyed by everyday people,” Shannon explains.

“I wouldn't exactly say coffee is her passion, though–”

“It's you, Y/N,” Shannon interjects, rolling her eyes playfully. “You are her passion. She excelled in coffee-making because it's something you love. And it's a beautiful thing, to shape a passion around someone you care about so deeply.”

“But it's rather strange, isn't it?” Shannon adds a while later. She digs her hand inside a bag of beans and takes a handful, then leans in to inhale its scent.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well,” Shannon continues, “Considering how much she adores you, must be one of the universe’ greatest mysteries as to why she would ever cheat on you.”

You find yourself taken aback, unsure if you should feel insulted or if you should just brush it off. Her remark is quite out of the blue, and she doesn't seem to grasp how inappropriate it is. It seems that Shannon may be the sort of person who speaks without considering the impact of her words.

But, in her candid, albeit tactless, comment, you get a glimpse of another side of her–one that's less reserved and more carefree than you had initially perceived.

Before you can think of something to reply, a voice cuts in, causing you and Shannon to jerk your heads towards the source.

“Welcome! Can I help you find something particular?”

The voice belongs to the shopkeeper, an elderly gentleman sporting a smile as warming as a hot cup of chocolate. You return his smile with a slightly sheepish one, confessing, “I actually have no idea. My wif–my, uh, partner joined this annual coffee competition in NYC. I thought I might surprise her with some unique beans to experiment with.”

“Sounds like a wonderful gift!” he exclaims, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. He hobbles over to a nearby shelf filled with an array of coffee bags. “Well, if she's in a competition, I'd suggest trying a couple of different single-origin beans to get a variety of flavors.”

He reaches up to a shelf and pulls down a bag of coffee. “This here is a single-origin bean from Ethiopia. Known for its bright and fruity flavors, it's a favorite among many coffee connoisseurs.”

Setting that bag down, he moves over to another shelf. “And over here we have a single-origin bean from Colombia. This one has a richer, more full-bodied profile with notes of dark chocolate and a nutty finish.”

He hands both bags to you, his aged yet firm hands transferring the beans with a sense of reverence. “I think these two could provide some interesting flavors for her to experiment with. What do you think?”

A thoughtful hum escapes you as you consider the shopkeeper's recommendations. The Ethiopian and Colombian beans definitely sound like a good place to start, but you want to give Wanda something a little more... unexpected.

“Do you have anything else?” you ask. “Maybe something more unconventional? A wildcard, if you will.”

The shopkeeper looks at you for a moment, as if sizing up your level of coffee knowledge and daring. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Well, I do have something rather special,” he admits, leading you to the far corner of the shop.

He reaches behind a stack of bags, pulling out a smaller, unassuming bag. “This here is a single-origin bean from a tiny town in the northernmost region of Japan. It's not widely known for its coffee cultivation, but I have a friend there who has been growing these beans using a unique method. He's a former whiskey brewer and has applied some of the techniques from brewing to coffee cultivation.”

He hands over the bag and you take it, intrigued by the origin and backstory. The beans look slightly lighter than the other two bags, and you can almost smell the promise of a unique flavor profile.

“This is a real wildcard,” the shopkeeper adds with a wink. “It's unlike anything else you'll find. But tell your partner to be careful. These beans require a bit more finesse to fully bring out their complex flavors.”

You can't help but smile. This is exactly the kind of thing you were hoping to find. Something different and exciting for Wanda to work with, that would also show your support and faith in her skills. A perfect blend, in more ways than one.

“Seeing you so lovesick over your ex makes me want to gag,” Shannon comments, once you've finished your transaction with the shopkeeper.

You turn to her, eyebrow arched, “Are you always this tactless?”

She just laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet of the shop, and then completely ignores your question. “You know what? Now I see why you and Wanda are so perfect for each other.”

“And why is that?” you blink at her, intrigued despite yourself.

She shrugs, her smile knowing. “Because despite everything, you still do this shit like she’s the best thing that's ever happened to you. And I bet she’s the same.”

With those words, she heads out of the shop, leaving you standing there awkwardly, still processing her words. Her straightforwardness was unexpected but kind of refreshing. You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you follow her out.

“...Wh-Where was I?” Your words hitch as Wanda tenderly grazes her teeth over your jugular.

“You were saying that Shannon is kind of a bitch,” Wanda whispers, continuing her assault.

You chuckle lightly but it quickly transforms into a low moan. “Well, she is, but I think that's just her way of dealing with things.”

Wanda hums against your skin, a small laugh escaping her lips. “She certainly seems to have a unique perspective,” she concedes, withdrawing slightly to look you in the eyes. “But she's right about one thing.”

“And what would that be?” you ask breathlessly as you feel Wanda’s fingers trail their way up your stomach, under your shirt.

She gives you a teasing grin, the irises of her eyes pitch black as she playfully declares, “That you're smitten with me.”

You blink in surprise. “Wait, what? She said that?”

You feel Wanda’s smile against your skin before her tongue slips out to lick the sweat that has gathered under your ear. “Yes, she did. Told me right when you two got back home earlier.”

“Well, can't argue with that,” you concede, pulling her closer. The conversation drifts, forgotten, drowned in Wanda’s lips against yours and her hand squeezing your tit as she finally pushes her tongue inside your mouth.

“W-Wands,” you whine as your ex-wife’s other hand moves to cup you over your leggings. Wanda ignores you, rubbing your clit achingly slow as her tongue flickers in and out of your mouth, teasing you relentlessly.

“Wands,” you try again.

“What?” she husks out, her tone dripping with impatience and arousal.

“Is this a good idea? I mean… We… oh god,” you groan against her cheek when she slips her hand inside your underwear and zeroes in on your opening, collecting the wetness there before spreading them upwards towards your clit.

“Try saying that again, love?” Wanda murmurs with a smirk.

“Uh, w-we scheduled an appointment with–”

Your words fail you at this point when Wanda inserts a finger into your pussy, burying it two knuckles deep at once.

“Fuck–”

Wanda swallows your scream with a kiss, and she smiles as she feels the vibrations of your moans as she starts thrusting her finger in and out of your hole.

“I love it when you’re so loud, baby,” Wanda whispers into your ear before biting your lobe. “But we need to keep quiet. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

She senses your nod, but just as she's about to introduce another finger, your laptop interrupts with its ringing sound.

It’s a video call request from none other than your therapist.

You immediately extricate yourself from Wanda's grasp, causing her to groan in frustration at the untimely interruption. Your skin bears a heated flush and you hurriedly straighten your disheveled hair, trying to ignore how wet your inner thighs have gotten as you hit the accept button on the incoming video call.

There’s a satisfying grin on Wanda’s face as she observes the way you press your legs together, trying to relieve some of the tension she caused there.

“Y/N? Wanda? Can you hear me?” Calliope’s voice breaks through the speakers. The video is still loading and you can’t see her on the screen yet.

Understanding that the call includes her as well, Wanda quickly composes herself, matching your effort to regain decency. Both of you adjust your clothing, smooth down your hair, and take a deep breath.

“Am I disturbing anything?” Calliope inquires, an undercurrent of amusement lacing her tone. Your face turns a deeper shade of red at the hint of her insinuation, and you quickly shake your head in denial.

“With Christmas looming so near, I'd totally understand if you two prefer to reschedule–”

“No, it's okay,” you interject hastily. “Wanda and I are ready for this.”

The sound of Wanda's soft chuckle resonates beside you, and in a playful retort, you nudge her rib with your elbow. She responds with a firm, “Yes, we certainly are.”

Simultaneously, she reaches for your hand, weaving your fingers together in a comforting interlock, resting them gently on her lap. You smile inwardly, feeling more giddy about the intimate nature of this small action than the sex that almost happened.

Without further ado, Calliope delves directly into the agenda of this, your third session. She invites you and Wanda to share what your married life was like prior to the indiscretion, and you find yourself taking the lead.

“Honestly, it felt like we had a perfect marriage,” you start off. “Not just the marriage, but our entire life seemed idyllic. My career was progressing as planned. Wanda... She was my pillar, always there, always supportive.” You look at Wanda adoringly and in return, she offers a shy, hesitant smile, her eyes momentarily flickering away before meeting yours again. You don’t notice, but there’s something else there. Her demeanor has shifted ever since Calliope brought up the session’s main topic.

Her fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours as you continue, recounting the times when you both laughed together, celebrated successes, and held each other through tougher days.

“And it wasn't just that she was supportive,” you add, your voice catching slightly. “She was, and still is, my best friend. We shared everything.”

Wanda's quiet during your monologue. The room is silent except for the low hum of the laptop and the occasional soft exhale from Wanda. After a moment, Calliope's calm voice pierces the quiet.

“Thank you for sharing that,” she says. “Wanda, would you like to share your perspective now?”

Wanda nods and lets go of your hand, her eyes filled with a somber resolve, her voice quieter when she finally speaks.

“Over the course of our five-year marriage, I was mostly content–happy. However, I often found myself feeling like a shadow, rather than an…equal partner.”

You whip your head towards Wanda, but her eyes stay stuck on the laptop screen. It takes a few seconds longer before she finally turns her gaze towards you and says, “For the last few months before I–before what happened–it felt like I was just trailing behind you, almost constantly. But it's not your fault.

“I was grappling with feelings of inadequacy when I... made that mistake,” she continues, her voice faltering slightly as she alludes to her infidelity. “I was in a state of confusion, and despite your joy and accomplishments, I was unable to share in that same level of happiness,” Wanda finishes.

Just when you believe you're set for an easygoing session, life throws you a curveball. It seems each encounter with Calliope pops the cozy bubble you've created with Wanda. Each time you're certain you've navigated the thickest of storms, another one brews on the horizon, causing your heart to question–yet again–the durability of this second shot at a relationship with your ex-wife.

Wanda swallows hard, before adding, “And then there was the struggle to start a family. You were the one who wanted children, but when it got tough... I felt like I was in it far deeper than you were. You were supportive, yes, but it felt like I was alone in the intensity of wanting it, needing it.”

“What made you feel like I wasn't with you through this?" you ask, a tinge of frustration seeping in your tone.

She takes a moment before responding, “When I couldn't get pregnant, you seemed so quick to dismiss our failure... it made me feel even more isolated.”

You shake your head. She couldn’t be further from how it really was for you, but you can’t blame her if that was how she felt during those times.

“I'm sorry if it seemed like I was dismissive,” you whisper as memories play back in your mind, each one revealing nuances you hadn't recognized at the time. “It wasn't my intention to belittle our struggle. I guess... I just didn't want to see you in more pain than you were already in. I thought being optimistic and pushing forward would help us cope, but I see now how that might have come across as indifference.”

“Weren't you upset with me?” Wanda asks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We invested so much for me to conceive and... and I failed. Do you... do you resent me for that?”

“Wanda,” you say, your voice choked with emotion, “I never cared about the money. And you didn't fail. It's a process, and sometimes it's a tough one. But I don't resent you, not for a moment. My disappointment was never with you, but with the situation. I felt...helpless.”

“Helpless,” you reiterate, your eyes steadfastly meeting Wanda's. “Because I was at a loss on how to support you... how to alleviate your pain.”

Your voice, once steady, falters slightly as you confess, “Each doctor's appointment, every unsuccessful attempt... It felt like I was failing you, like I couldn't provide the comfort or solution you needed.”

You draw a shaky breath before adding, “And in my helplessness, I pushed for us to move forward right away. But now I realize...it might have felt to you like I was dismissing your pain, dismissing our shared struggle. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Wanda murmurs, her voice heavy with regret. There's a softness in her gaze as she looks at you. “I’m sorry for not telling you what I was feeling.”

Just as you're about to respond, Calliope cuts in. “The reason I asked you both to share your perspectives on your marriage before is to gauge the level of openness and communication between you two. Communication is one of the key bridges to trust. If we understand where we each stood before, we can better see clearly where we want to go.”

With this new revelation, you can't help but wonder about other instances where your and Wanda's perspectives may have diverged significantly.

It makes you wonder, what other moments had been experienced so differently by the two of you? How many times have you found yourselves adrift on separate pages of the same story?

A cold shiver of uncertainty sweeps through you. You're not sure you're ready to dive deep into the past, to unpack five years of the life you had shared with Wanda.

The thought of your dissolved marriage possibly being built on illusion rather than truth feels scary, like realizing a favorite story might not be as real as you once thought.

The topic left untouched so far is how this disconnect relates to Wanda's act of infidelity. Despite your discomfort, the question lingers in your mind: If you were to misunderstand her feelings once more, would it drive Wanda away again?

You hold your tongue for the time being. Maybe there'll be a moment later to wrestle with this thought... or perhaps, you find yourself wishing, it might simply fade away with time.

A couple of hours later, you and Wanda find yourselves working together in the kitchen. The session with Calliope has ended on a less intense note (thankfully) with an anecdote about her cat after Wanda made a request for Calliope to share something about herself for a change.

Afterwards, Calliope, not one to shy away from uncomfortable questions, had boldly asked about your and Wanda's physical intimacy. In response to your surprised silence, she suggested a temporary pause on sexual activities. Her reasoning was that sex, while a key component in a relationship, could sometimes blur the perception of the emotional state of the partnership and hinder the process of rebuilding trust.

In place of physical intimacy, Calliope suggested an exercise known as “Eye Gazing”. The idea was simple: sit across from each other in a quiet room, looking into each other's eyes without speaking. It's an exercise designed to foster emotional connection and understanding, without the distraction of words.

As you stir the simmering soup and Wanda deftly slices the vegetables, the appetizing smell of your evening meal fills the room. The intensity of the session's discussions seems to recede, replaced by the cheer that Christmas Eve unfailingly brings as it approaches.

“Mom's home!” Pietro yells from outside, his voice bubbling with excitement over the Taylor Swift songs that Shannon has playing in the kitchen. Shannon's taken charge of directing the preparation of the prime rib and turkey, even though she's doing little more than calling the shots. It's almost as if she's forgotten that there's a seasoned cook in the house–someone who actually runs their own food and beverage business.

Wanda freezes at Pietro’s announcement and you put a hand on the small of her back and lean in to ask, “Are you okay?”

She nods and assures you further with a smile.

A few seconds later, the arrival of the twins’ mother is heralded by her appreciative comment about the tantalizing aroma wafting from the kitchen. You've only seen Iryna twice. The first time was when you drove Wanda to her hometown for a visit, and the last time was at a hospital, following a drug overdose just before you and Wanda tied the knot–an incident that was the final push for Wanda to sever all ties with her.

She appears significantly healthier compared to the grim memory etched in your mind. Her skin has a renewed vitality to it, and she's gained enough weight to fill out the hollow cheeks that you recall. Without the traces of addiction evident on her physique, she’s a dead ringer for Wanda.

You stop what you're doing, curious to see the reunion that would unfold.

Pietro’s arm is slung over Iryna’s shoulders as she laughs at something her son said. Wanda appears small and uneasy in the corner, waiting for her mother's recognition, uncertain whether she should be the one to make the first move.

“Wanda, dear!” Iryna calls out to Wanda with a wide smile, but as she makes her way to her daughter, she is intercepted by Shannon who greets her with a kiss on the cheek and engages her briefly in small talk. Wanda looks on, the corners of her lips downturned, and you can almost see the conflict of emotions in her wide, green eyes.

Finally, Pietro pulls his pregnant wife aside so that Iryna can have her moment with Wanda.

“Iryna,” Wanda murmurs, her voice choked with emotion. As her mother comes to a stop in front of her, Wanda can't help but notice how the years have softened her features.

“Hello, Dove,” Iryna's voice is tender, brimming with an affection Wanda had almost forgotten. Without another word, Iryna wraps her arms around Wanda, pulling her into a hug that feels like home.

Wanda stiffens momentarily, the walls she's built over the years making her hesitate. But as her mother's familiar scent fills her senses, she can't help but let go, letting the warmth of the hug thaw her frozen heart. Her hands tentatively rise, resting on her mother's back.

Tears prick at her eyes, tears she stubbornly fights back. She'd told herself countless times she never wanted to see her mother again, that she could live without her. But standing here, enveloped in her, she realizes just how much she had missed Iryna. At the same time, this woman feels like a new person, and she realizes she’s more than willing to embrace this opportunity to get to know her.

“Hey, where should I put this?”

All heads swivel toward the door where a man stands, holding a case of beer and sporting a friendly smile. With his chiseled features and confident posture, he could easily be mistaken for a model straight out of a Men's Health magazine. Around your age and undeniably attractive, your eyes quickly dart to Wanda, trying to read her reaction.

Wanda looks genuinely surprised, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the newcomer.

And there it is again, that constricting feeling in your chest, the sudden, inexplicable need to claim Wanda as yours and yours alone. You're unable to shake off the feeling, even as you remind yourself that Wanda's reaction is likely just a response to an unexpected guest.

You should trust her, after all.

Pietro is the first to recover from the surprise, a grin breaking across his face. “Tom!” he exclaims, laughing as he moves to take the beer from him. “Kitchen counter's fine.”

You wrack your brain to place this “Tom,” mentally sifting through the countless Maximoff family photos you've seen, but come up empty.

But then, as he strides towards Wanda with a familiarity that tugs at a memory, it suddenly clicks.

Yes, Tom. Wanda and Pietro's childhood friend, and also Wanda's ex-boyfriend.

“I forgot to mention,” Pietro starts, turning to the rest of the room with an apologetic grin, “Tom, our friend from back home, recently moved to town. He's new here and doesn't really know anyone yet, so I thought he could join us for tonight's dinner.”

A casual round of handshakes and friendly smiles makes its way to Tom, each person sharing a word or two of welcome.

When the introductions circle back to you, you accept his handshake, offering your name and a casual, “Merry Christmas,” before excusing yourself to grab a beer from the fridge.

A second later, Wanda is at your side, her fingers finding yours. She leans close to your ear and murmurs, “I've told you about Tom, right?”

“Your ex-boyfriend?” You keep your tone neutral. “Yeah, you did.”

“Yup, that's him,” she confirms, nodding in his direction, her eyes searching yours for any signs of distress.

Finding your gaze locked onto Tom, you can't help but analyze him in every way. It's not your nature to be the jealous type, but after Wanda's affair, insecurity has a way of creeping into your thoughts every now and then. Perhaps Calliope hit the nail on the head; having sex with Wanda frequently might have lulled you into a false sense of security.

Meanwhile, Wanda's eyes are trained on you, her attention riveted to your reactions. Her indifference to Tom's presence is obvious, but you miss this entirely, too occupied with quelling the unexpected stir of jealousy within you.

She squeezes your fingers to get you to look at her, and when you do, you see nothing but total devotion in those green orbs.

“Why don't we get back to our cooking, huh?” she suggests with a small, warm smile.

It’s a reprieve from being helpless to your not entirely baseless worries. That’s Wanda for you–always able to draw you back, grounding you in moments like this.

Dinner is a massive success. Shannon revels in the praise, beaming with satisfaction. You and Wanda let her take all the credit, just happy to see everyone enjoy themselves.

Iryna keeps everyone entertained with funny stories from when Wanda and Pietro were kids, and the whole table is laughing. Tom joins in, too, sharing some memories and even shooting friendly smiles at you and Wanda. It still bothers you a little, but seeing Wanda enjoy herself helps you push it aside.

You can't help but watch Wanda throughout the evening. She's completely caught up in the Christmas cheer, her eyes lighting up like the twinkling lights around the room. Every once in a while, she looks your way, and when your eyes meet, you feel a warmth that's hard to describe.

After eleven years together, you'd think the initial thrill would fade, the love might settle into something comfortable and familiar. But with Wanda, it's different. It's almost frightening how you keep falling for her harder as the years go by.

Fortunately, no one bothers to reminisce about Tom and Wanda’s dating history, and you’re grateful for everybody’s consideration and respect for you and Wanda’s attempts at a reconciliation.

Still, a knot tightens in your stomach each time you notice Wanda and Tom sharing a knowing smile over Pietro's tales from their hometown. Your grip on your cutlery hardens as Tom attempts to engage Wanda in a casual chat or praises her culinary skills.

You find yourself imagining quite a few things, your mind drifting to their shared past and what they might have once been to each other. The more you think about it, the more you spiral into an unpleasant series of what-ifs and maybes.

Silently, you push your chair back and stand, excusing yourself. Except for Wanda, they don’t find anything amiss at your departure, their cheerful chatter resuming unimpeded.

A minute or so later, Wanda takes her leave as well, seeking you out. She discovers you in the guest room, the one both of you have been sharing, standing on the balcony, staring off into the distance.

She joins you at the balcony, her hand instinctively finding yours. “Is everything okay?” she asks, her voice soft, threading with concern.

In front of you, the landscape of Los Angeles stretches out, utterly unlike the steel jungle of New York you're used to. There are hills undulating in the distance, a patchwork of houses and greenery, the quiet echo of the ocean's waves caressing the shore, and an abundance of space that makes you feel both small and infinite at once.

Her thumb gently rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand.

“Talk to me,” she gently urges.

You've always prided yourself on your level-headedness, your rational thinking. But jealousy... It is a powerful emotion, tearing at the edges of your pride.

“I don't know how to say this without sounding pathetic,” you sigh, your eyes dropping to where your fingers are entwined. “But watching you and Tom, laughing and sharing stories, it stirred up feelings I didn't expect. I felt... jealous. And I know it's ridiculous and irrational. I know you're not... you're not going to just... But I can't help how I feel.”

The confession leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You don't know what you're expecting Wanda to say. An apology, reassurance, a confession of her own perhaps. The silence stretches, heavy and awkward, but you can't find the courage to look at her.

“I get why you're feeling this way. It's because of me. Because of what I did… and I’m sorry for that,” Wanda’s voice comes out hoarse from laughing so many times at the dinner table.

It’s becoming a pattern: you being upset and Wanda apologizing over and over again. And it’s not even her fault this time.

“I can't control how you feel, and I don't want to pretend that I know what you're going through. But what I can do is keep showing up for you, keep proving that I'm all yours. That's all I can do, and that's what I promise,” she says. She moves closer, hugging you from behind, her arms encircling your waist. You feel her chin resting on your shoulder, and her warmth begins to envelop you. You let out a soft sigh.

Her honesty strikes a chord within you. You look at her, her eyes reflecting the moonlight, and in that moment, you want to believe her.

You want and want and want. But when does the wanting transform into reality?

Still keeping her hold, she murmurs in your ear, “You know, I think now might be a good time for your Christmas gift.”

You turn to face her in surprise, the earlier heavy conversation momentarily forgotten. “A Christmas gift?” you echo, and she simply nods, her smile widening a touch.

“Yep, and I've been holding onto it for the right moment,” she explains, releasing you from her embrace to reach into her pocket. She retrieves a small box, its exterior adorned with intricate details and a shiny ribbon.

Her eyes find yours, alive with anticipation and a flicker of nervousness that is so uncharacteristic of her. She hands the box over to you, maintaining eye contact all the while.

"Go on, open it," she urges.

You look at her once more before directing your attention to the small package in your hands. Unraveling the ribbon and lifting the lid, you're met with a glint of silver catching the ambient light.

Inside the box lies a delicate silver chain, a pendant attached at its center. The pendant is a small compass, intricately detailed and with a vintage aura. What surprises you more is the small photo inside the compass. It's a picture of you and Wanda, the first one you took together as friends inside a photobooth.

Your breath catches in your throat as you carefully lift the necklace from its cushioned home. You can't take your eyes off the image. It's a snapshot of a time when you both were deeply in love but unaware of it, where everything was fresh and new and brimming with hope and ambition.

A memory of pure, undiluted happiness.

“Wanda…” you start, feeling an inexplicable lump in your throat.

“I know we can't go back in time,” she interrupts softly. “But this...this is my promise to you. I want to go forward, create more moments like these, and give you a reason to trust me again.”

You glance at the necklace in your hand, then at the one adorning Wanda's neck–the necklace that carries her wedding ring. An overwhelming desire washes over you to remove it from its chain and place it back where it truly belongs: on Wanda's finger. But you swiftly check yourself. You're moving too fast, allowing your hopes to get ahead of reality. You resolve to not act impulsively, to not assume anything.

You turn in Wanda’s arms to face her, a sheepish grin on your lips. “You know, I also got you a Christmas gift,” you confess, a bit hesitant. “Though it's nothing compared to this, and now I feel... a little embarrassed.”

Wanda's eyes sparkle with anticipation and a hint of amusement. She releases you and steps back, crossing her arms in front of her. “Oh, really? And here I thought you were going to outdo me,” she teases, chuckling at the red hue now spreading across your cheeks.

You let out a resigned sigh, knowing there's no way you can compete with the sentimentality of her gift. “Just... don't laugh, okay?” you warn her, but she's already grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Nervously, you reach into your suitcase, pulling out a box about the size of a shoebox, wrapped carefully in nondescript brown paper. As you hand it over to Wanda, your heartbeat escalates, thumping loudly in your ears.

“I just... I mean, it's nothing grand like yours,” you stutter, your cheeks flushing. “It feels a bit silly now, to be honest.”

Wanda merely smiles at you. “Stop it, I'm sure it's wonderful.”

Gently, she tears into the paper wrapping, unveiling a box. Inside it, three distinct bags of single-origin coffee beans sit.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she takes in the contents of the box. “You got me coffee?” she echoes, an undertone of laughter coloring her voice.

Nodding bashfully, you say, “Yeah, I figured it could come in handy for the Cup-off.”

A chuckle escapes Wanda, and she lifts one of the bags to her nose, inhaling deeply. “These smell incredible,” she says, grinning at you. “This is such a thoughtful gift. Thank you. It’s just perfect.”

Your chest warms as you watch Wanda cradle the bags of coffee, a genuine smile lighting up her face.

“I’m sure this will help me make the best cup,” Wanda says.

You pull her in for a short but sweet kiss and say, “You already do.”

Much later, when everyone’s dozing off (Shannon) and catching up in small groups (Wanda and Iryna), Tom bids his goodbye to everyone, much to your relief. Your discomfort around him lingered in the background, even as you and Wanda returned to the living room to continue the celebrations and watch everyone else exchange Christmas presents.

Just as you're beginning to feel a bit more relaxed, Pietro approaches you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Hey, mind if I steal you for a second?” he asks, nodding towards the garden visible through the glass doors.

Puzzled, you glance at Wanda, but she’s in a deep and serious conversation with her mother.

You shrug your shoulders and say, “Sure, Pietro, lead the way.”

He walks you out into the cool night; it’s completely quiet except for the serenade of crickets hiding in the backyard.

Pietro settles onto a stone bench, and then gestures for you to join him.

As you take a seat, he fishes out a rolled blunt from his pocket. You merely raise an eyebrow and shake your head, waving away his offer.

His smirk broadens at your reaction. “Well, maybe it's worth a try. Might help you chill out a bit,” he suggests with a teasing note in his voice.

“No, thanks. I’m chill as it is,” you say.

“Really? Because I couldn't help but notice you weren't so 'chill' when Tom was around earlier.”

You hesitate, not expecting Pietro to call you out like this. “Was it that obvious?”

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. He then takes a generous puff of his blunt before exhaling slowly.

Suddenly, Pietro looks you in the eyes and asks, “Do you love Wanda?”

The directness of the question catches you off guard, more so than his earlier suggestion to try a blunt. You’re slightly offended that he feels the need to ask you this.

When you remain quiet and withdrawn for a long time, Pietro speaks again. “It’s not a rhetorical question by the way. I do want to know if you love Wanda.”

Finally, you turn towards him, brow furrowed, a hint of indignation in your eyes. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one. Do you love my sister?”

Yes.

Always.

Nevertheless.

The answer has always been clear to you, but instead, you return the volley. “Why are you asking? What's this about?” You challenge, more skeptical now about his motives behind such a question than providing him with an answer.

He meets your gaze, an uncharacteristic intensity in his eyes. “Because if you really loved her, why did you let it come to this?” he asks pointedly. “Why did you let things fall apart? Why didn't you fight for your marriage? You hurt her, Y/N. You hurt my sister.”

He continues, “And I know the extent of how much you hurt her. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“Wait, what?” You choke out, disbelieving.

Pietro simply shrugs. “It was me,” he repeats, his voice steady, unrepentant. “I was the one who sent you that photo of Wanda in the hospital. I wanted you to see. To know.”

The shock is enough to rob you of words. Shame wells up inside you.

He smirks in satisfaction and mumbles to himself, “Yeah, that kinda felt good.”

The words seem to get stuck in your throat; they press in on you, making it hard to breathe.

Finally, you find your voice, though it comes out as more of a whisper, your eyes fixed on a nondescript point on the floor. “At that time... I was so deeply hurt. I believed, truly believed, that Wanda didn't love me anymore.” You swallow hard, your throat feeling painfully dry.

“And I didn't want to fight for our marriage because... I was scared. Scared to fail if I tried, scared to prolong the agony only to find out in the end that there’s nothing to save.” Your voice cracks slightly, as if the wound is still fresh despite the passage of time.

Even now, you can't say that you're a hundred percent confident that Wanda's love for you is certain. Perhaps nothing she does will ever completely assure you. Maybe this time, it's really up to you to have faith.

“I just wanted the pain to stop. So, I did the only thing I thought would help. I... I walked away,” you finish, staring into nothingness as the memory of your decision reverberates painfully within you.

Pietro falls silent, his eyes narrowing as he studies you, taking in what you've said. Then, with a penetrating look, he says, “Sounds more like you wanted to be the one to walk away first.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “What?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes are sharp. “You just didn't want to be the one left behind.”

A part of you can't deny it–perhaps you did preemptively end things out of fear of being the one left behind. A self-preservation measure that's caused more harm than good. But admitting that to yourself is another thing entirely, let alone to Pietro.

“Maybe,” you concede after a moment. “But can you blame me for it? You’ve never been in my shoes. Have you ever paused to consider what it was like for your ex-wives? What it was like for Shannon?” Your voice rises with each question, frustration finally breaking free from its confines.

Pietro looks at you, his expression inscrutable for a moment, before he gives you a curt nod.

“Touché,” he admits grudgingly, and then attempts a chuckle. “We suck at celebrating this Christmas thing together, aren’t we?”

Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitches up in a small, matching smile. But then it’s gone almost instantly because the topic of loving Wanda is something you’ve always taken seriously.

“I think things would’ve been worse if I didn’t walk away. I was in a really dark place. I only realized it when several months later, seeing the bastard she slept with sent me off the rails.

“If I hadn't stepped away, things would've gotten even worse,” you explain. “It felt like I was stuck in never-ending darkness, with no hope of seeing the dawn. It was really bad. I didn't know how much until I ran into that guy she cheated with, months later. I just completely lost it.”

“That... actually makes a lot of sense,” Pietro says, his tone softer than before. “It might not have been the best approach, but I get it. It's tough to see things clearly when you're caught in a storm, isn't it?”

You nod, grateful for his understanding. This empathy from Pietro, who usually comes across as nonchalant, helps ease some of the tightness in your chest.

“But then,” Pietro continues, locking eyes with you. “That still leaves my question unanswered. Despite everything that's happened... Do you love Wanda?” His tone is serious, almost challenging, making it clear that he expects an honest answer this time.

You give him your answer this time.

***

You and Wanda arrive back in Manhattan around noon the next day.

The plane touches down smoothly on the John F. Kennedy runway, marking the end of an unforgettable weekend. As you collect your belongings, you turn to Wanda, gratitude in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you say, sincerity lacing your voice. “This weekend... It was something special. Really.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile as she meets your eyes. “I'm glad you had a good time,” she says. “But now, it's back to work. The coffee showdown won't prep itself.”

“Need any help with that?” you ask, eager to stay close, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

She looks at you, her eyes wide with surprise, then her face softens into a grateful smile. “You're probably worn out from the trip,” she says, “and honestly, it might take me all night to get it right.”

Undeterred, you reply, “Well, you need a test subject, right?”

She thinks about it some more.

“I promise I won't be biased. I won’t just say everything tastes delicious,” you add, trying to win her over.

Her laughter rings through the air as she finally nods, accepting your offer. “Alright, you're on.”

What follows is an all-night coffee marathon, filled with experimentation, flirty banter, and more cups of coffee than you can count.

Despite the late hour and the caffeine jitters, you wouldn't have it any other way.

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