Title: Risk
Story: In the Heart
Colors: Harvest gold 14 (south for the winter), russet 5 (rough), zing 13 (if ignorance is bliss, you must be the happiest person alive) with shadowsong's paint-by-numbers (And a tiny part of me envies you for it)
Supplies and Materials: Bichromatic, canvas (the girls are in college), glitter (damage).
Word Count: 642
Rating: PG
Summary: Gina takes Olivia home for Thanksgiving break.
Warnings: very brief mention of homophobic reactions.
Notes: My late contribution to National Coming Out Day.


They were thirty miles from Syracuse when Gina pulled off the highway and stopped.

Olivia had been dozing, face pressed against the glass, but the stop woke her fully and she sat up, pushing her mass of hair back from her face. "What? What is it? Are we there?"

"No, not yet." Gina sat in the car for a moment, her hands still on the wheel, facing straight ahead.
It was enough time for Olivia to blink her vision straight again and look around. They were in an otherwise deserted gas station, surrounded by browning trees and rocky outcrops, the roar of the highway the only sound. She glanced at the dashboard-- three-quarters of a tank, even she wasn't that paranoid about running out of gas. "Gina? Are you okay?"

Gina blinked a couple of times, then shut the car off, dropped her hands to her lap, and turned to Olivia. "Fine, sorry. I just wanted... my parents don't know I'm gay."

"Okay," Olivia said, slowly. "So no talking about India." Not that she would have-- she'd had barely known India for a week and already she didn't like her.

"Yeah," Gina said, and made an effort to smile. It didn't quite work. "No talking about India. Or anything else like that. You know."

"Yeah," Olivia said. They were quiet for a moment, but when Gina didn't reach to turn the car back on, she dared another question. "Can I ask why you're not out? If you don't mind," she added quickly, because however wonderful Gina was, Olivia had only known her for two months, and some habits were too ingrained to remove.

At any rate, Gina didn't react badly-- she only shook her head. "No, I don't mind. Um."

They sat in a more comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Gina spoke up again. "It's because I'm afraid."

Flashback and Olivia's breath came short, her mother towering over her, face purple with rage. "Afraid--"

"Not like that," Gina said quickly, and reached out, took Olivia's hand. "Not like that, they'd never hurt me. No, it's just..." She shook her head. "They're just very Catholic, and I don't know how they'd react, and I don't... I don't want to risk it."

"Risk what?" Olivia ventured.

"Risk..." She laughed, short and unhappy. "I don't know. They might throw me out of the house, I guess. Might not, might just look at me like I'm broken for the rest of my life." She closed her eyes, shook her head. "Maybe a miracle happens and they don't even look at me any different. But I don't think so, Livvy. And I just... don't want to risk it."

"Okay," Olivia said, "I understand that," because she did, because she remembered her father's face, the venom in her mother's voice, the way her own heart had broken. "I do, I..." She stopped, remembering she hadn't told Gina about that secret pain.

Gina squeezed her hand and said, gently, "No, you really don't, but I appreciate it anyway. So, just, um. Don't talk about India and the rest of it, okay? Not like it'll come up."

Olivia tilted her head to the side. "Won't they want to know about your love life?"

"Ordinarily," Gina said, making a face, "yes. But this time--" her eyes brightened-- "they'll be too focused on you, in a good way. Seriously, hon, they're just going to love you. My mom might try to adopt you on the spot."

Olivia blushed, and looked down, as Gina started the car up again. "I don't think so, I mean, you're their daughter..."

"And you're adorable," Gina insisted. "Trust me, you're going to be like catnip to them."

Olivia giggled and the conversation washed away, lost in sillier topics and laughter.

But she never quite forgot it, or the look on Gina's face.