Chapter Text
Maybe it’s the holidays making her sentimental, but she really misses Gigi.
It feels dumb, if she cares to admit it—Gigi’s an old friend. Her best friend from childhood, but when Gigi moved away they grew apart. It’s a normal thing to do, it happens to almost everyone, but still, she can’t help but feel like it’s her fault.
Because Gigi’s a model now. One of those travel-around-the-world-and-get-free-stuff models, with pictures of her appearing in magazines and social media like it’s nothing, even though it’s not nothing because she knows how hard Gigi worked to get there.
But Crystal’s not by her side, not in the cast of too-beautiful characters that grace her Instagram stories and also live that beautiful model lifestyle. She’s not one of those flawless people, and truth be told she’s the same old Crystal as she was before—just with a different haircut and a few more breakups under her belt.
It doesn’t make her feel less conflicted about if she should reach out, but it wouldn’t feel right to just send her a text like old times. Like she’s talking to the Gigi she grew up with, not the person who appeared on a billboard not even five minutes from their old high school. (Daya always made fun of the billboard, because she isn’t too busy staring at her old friend’s face to stop and laugh about the “giant Gigi overseeing everything.”)
But if she did reach out, what would she even say?
“Hey girl! I just saw you on a TV show getting interviewed by some celebrity, wanna watch trashy reality TV and eat shitty takeout in my cramped apartment I share with my sister where we’d have to sit on my bed? It’d be just like when you visited me in college, except you’ve made a killing and live in LA and I’m still drowning in student loans.”
Definitely not.
It’s probably for the best that she doesn’t text. It’s been five years since they’ve said anything more than “Happy Birthday!” and things like it. She’s gotten famous since then. Crystal hasn’t moved out of their hometown. They’re not even on the same playing field.
But if there was ever a time that she’d be back home…
Her parents still lived out here. She could’ve come home for Christmas.
“Just text her.” Daya cuts through her thoughts, reading her mind. Not that it was hard, given the hour-ish they spent talking about it earlier today, but it was still impressive. And annoying.
“And say what.” It’s barely a question. She’s slumped so far in her chair that she can barely crane her neck over to look at Daya without fully turning over. Daya’s probably in a similar position but scrolling her phone, if she hadn’t changed from the last time she’d looked over.
“Hi Gigi, I’m still super in lesbian love with you and you should come over so we can kiss?”
She almost deserves it for asking, but she scoffs anyways—that’s what Daya’s aiming for, if her audible smirk is anything to go by. “I hate you.”
Daya hums. “Yeah, no, when I saved you from Aunt Judy’s third retelling of the Bible you said the opposite. Only two hours ago, you’ll remember.”
“It’s changed. I hate you now,” she says, finally mustering the energy to turn over and look at her. She looks as exhausted as Crystal feels. Family parties always took it out of both of them. “Did you actually get a gift from her this year, or was it a—”
“Half-wrapped toothbrush again, yeah. But you’re avoiding the real thing: literally just text her. Then you’ll stop groaning about it, even if she did change her number or something.” Daya gestures something but it’s behind her phone, blocking it from her sight. She gets the gist of it, though, so she doesn’t need to ask. “But if she answers then you’ll skip into the sunset and get married and have your happily ever after. And I’ll be Aunt Judy’s favorite—until she finds out about Bosco at least.”
Just text her. As if it was as easy as that.
Crystal sighs, slumping further down somehow. “I really don’t know what to say, and I thought I’d get better at it but like. I still don’t know what to say. I haven’t since she moved.”
“You think you need to be ‘better’… but like, why? For her sake? Gigi’s? The same Gigi who biked a mile in the rain to buy you soup when you had vertigo because she thought it was a virus?”
“…It was good soup.”
“It was Panera. You just like her.” Daya scoots up to look at her. “I, ugh. Look. Gigi’s been looking at old pictures of you on Instagram—she liked a picture of the two of us I posted three years ago. That was around Thanksgiving this year. She’ll want to hear from you, even if all you can get yourself to do is say hi.”
“Stalking someone on Insta isn’t proof that they wanna hear from you! We just hate-stalked so many people from high school. Last night. And I know you were not too drunk to remember that.”
Daya groans, reaching a leg over to nudge her. “Just do it. Invite her over or something. I’m even leaving for Bosco’s for the night, if that’ll help.”
“Ugh, fine,” she agrees, as if it’s that easy.
Daya’s already left by the time she finally has a text she deems good enough to send. She still doesn’t think it’s good enough, but Daya was right—if she didn’t send something she’d never send anything, and even though it’s what she’s been doing for years the thought turns her stomach.
Crystal: Hi Gigi! I don’t know if you’re in town for Christmas, but I would love to meet up if you are!
It feels too eager, too much like they’re acquaintances and not long-time best friends, except aren’t they acquaintances? They haven’t talked much in years, and—
Gigi: Yes!!!! I’m staying at the Marriott and I’m so bored lol. I would love to see you!
She would love to see her. Her heart, already beating at the quick reply, only races even more at the words.
Crystal: Are you free tonight? We could go to dinner
Crystal: Unless you already ate or something
Gigi: Please, if I eat another pack of peanuts I’ll die
It’s almost like no time has passed. A smile splits her face and she feels giddy, a kind of excitement that makes her stand up and pace.
Crystal: Meet at Tolly’s Diner in 30?
Gigi: Can’t wait ❤️
It’s an old favorite of theirs, and not just because it was open 24 hours—it’s a little sketchy and horribly greasy but it was theirs. Late night gossip sessions with to-go pancakes eaten in the parking lot, crying over a plate of hashbrowns after some fight with some friend, celebrating something or another—Tolly’s was where they’d go for anything after 8pm.
And now she’ll be going with Gigi. Today. In 30 minutes.
She shucks off her worn sweats and horribly ratty sleep shirt, searching for one of her better button-ups and the jeans she finally finished embroidering, hoping that’s good enough but not letting herself agonize over it.
Because she’s seeing her old friend, and she refuses to continue to think of her as a famous model and not her Geege.
Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. She really hopes she’ll stop feeling so anxious about it after walking over there, but realistically it’ll probably only get worse.
So she’s good in a button-up and her new favorite jeans, because she thinks she looks nice and it’s comfy.
She grabs a hair tie and slips it on her wrist, just in case, then grabs her coat. It’s not a very far walk, but she’d rather get there early than sit at home and watch the clock until it was time to leave.
And to that end, she’s 10 minutes early when she gets there, waving at the people working (who she knows maybe a bit too well, but she still loves coming here with Daya so it makes sense). She pretends to look at a menu despite knowing exactly what she wants, just to look busy.
She isn’t reading a word.
Any minute, Gigi will be here. And they’ll talk, and they’ll catch up, and she hopes more than anything that it flows like it always has.
But what if Gigi’s grown unused to people like her? The people who don’t have thousands of followers and travel around and live amazing, picture-perfect lives. People who still live in her hometown with her sister working at a job she doesn’t really like, for instance.
What if Gigi looks at her and doesn’t like what she sees?
The button-up suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. Her favorite coat, hanging off the coat rack a few feet away from the table, seems more garish than cute. She checks her hair in the reflection of her phone screen and winces at the curls that aren’t laying right.
God, what was she thinking?
Even if Gigi’s still her friend, she should’ve tried harder. She should’ve dressed up more, it’s been years. She should’ve—
“Crystal!”
It feels like all the wind gets punched out of her. Her head flies up to see Gigi walking up, and she looks…
She looks so good.
A long coat over a plain shirt and jeans shouldn’t make her mouth dry like this, but it’s like these clothes were designed specifically for her. Everything fits like it was made with her in mind and it’s maddening—it’s all she can do to stare at Gigi’s face.
At least she’s excited enough to see her that the grin on her face is real. She just hopes she stops feeling so nauseous about it all soon.
She’s barely standing before Gigi’s pulling her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you, and,” she pulls back for a second, looking her up and down, “you look so good. I like the pants, did you do them?”
Crystal blinks, then laughs, because Gigi’s already launching into a whole thing and it’s so familiar and so Gigi that it’s all she can do. “It’s been too long, Geege. You look great, of course,” she says, trying to show how much she means it without showing too much. “And I just finished embroidering them the other day!”
Gigi’s smile is blinding. Somehow she’s graceful even when taking off her coat, because she lives to make Crystal try as hard as she can not to stare at her. She doesn’t know if she succeeded this time, but she’s sure she’ll be tested again. “I missed you. Now, if I don’t eat something I’m gonna die, what are you getting?”
And they’re off. Talking with Gigi makes her forget how much she’s built her up in her head, replacing Famous Model Gigi Goode with her Gigi, the one who scraped her knees doing sidewalk chalk and got in multiple arguments in high school about if bowl cuts could ever be considered chic.
Suddenly it wasn’t so scary.
It was… nice. Gigi’s laugh over a cup of hot cocoa they both always got but neither really liked, Gigi’s anecdotes about misunderstanding languages Crystal’s not sure she’d ever heard spoken in person, Gigi’s questions about her that were always paired with a gaze that seemed to peel her back until she found herself talking about deeper things than she’d prepared herself to.
But she was just telling them to Gigi, so she didn’t mind.
Gigi tells her more about being a model, including the bad parts. She tells her about long days and being critiqued on her body, about how lonely she felt. She told her about calls to her mom and about new friends.
She also mentioned missing her again. Crystal couldn’t help the blush, even as she was agreeing.
It’s electric, the energy between them. Why had they ever stopped talking? Why did she let their texts dwindle down to holiday greetings and birthday wishes? She can’t stop talking to her. She doesn’t want to. It’s been hours since Gigi sat down, their plates have come and been cleared. They got a slice of cake and ate that too, complaining about being full but still scraping frosting off the plate, and it’s so wonderfully normal and so perfectly them that she can’t help but grin.
They linger at the booth, at the coat rack, at the till, at the door. Neither of them seem ready to go, but Crystal doesn’t have the courage to invite her back, because what if she thinks she’s coming on to her? She lost the shield of the diner and its familiarity, the table between them that gave her the distance to catch her breath.
Now they’re standing maybe a little too close and Crystal just can’t take it—not enough to be able to think of where to go now, at least.
“Come back to the hotel?” Gigi’s looking at her as if there's a chance she’ll say no.
She blinks, then grins. “Yeah, perfect.”
Gigi’s answering grin is bright and silly and stupid, and it’s enough to melt away some of the ice sitting in her stomach despite the brisk breeze sweeping around them. “Okay, come on!”