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“Betsy, come down here a sec, would you, love?” Carla calls up the stairs, making sure to put on her sweetest voice.
She waits for a response. And waits, and waits...
“Bets!” she tries again. “I need a word!”
She waits some more. Still nothing.
Her eyes dart between the door and the clock nervously. She’s sure she can’t have long -- Lisa’s only nipped out to get some chocolate. The fact that Dev doesn’t actually stock the specific kind Carla’s sent her out for is sure to delay her a little bit, but only the two minutes it’ll take her to get down the street to Sainsbury’s.
No, she’s on a time crunch. This has to be done now.
She sighs, takes a long, hard breath in, and from deep within, summons every last inch of the scary dragon lady persona she’s been cultivating so hard over the past twenty-odd years. “Betsy! Down here, now!”
Finally, there’s movement.
Betsy appears at the top of the stairs, one headphone dangling out of her ear, a bored expression on her face. “What?” she sighs, all attitude.
Carla can’t help the smile that blooms on her face, can’t help the pure, unadulterated affection that burrows deep within her bones at the sight of her. “Come down a second, will you? Need to chat to you about something.”
Betsy groans dramatically. “Can’t it wait?” she asks. “I’m busy.”
“I- busy!” Carla guffaws. “Busy doing what, exactly? You’ve been up there half the day!”
A roll of the eyes, so much like her mother it has Carla’s heart twisting in her chest. “I have a lot of things to do, actually. I’ve got a very packed schedule.”
“So what you really mean is, you’re sat up there watching MAFS, yeah?” Caught, Betsy diverts eye contact. “Come on, it’s important. It’ll only take a minute.”
“Fine,” she relents, but not without a sigh that could only rival Carla’s own, feet dragging as she clomps down the stairs painfully slowly for dramatic effect. “But it better. I’ve just got to a really good bit.”
All of a sudden, Carla finds herself fluttering nervously, unsure of what to do with her hands, no idea of what to say. She should have planned this out in advance, she reckons -- or at least let herself consider the conversation further than I want to marry your mum, is that cool?
Betsy flops down onto the sofa, arms coming up to cross over her chest, face stony -- the absolute picture of teenage petulance, and Carla loves her, can hardly believe it herself how much.
“What is it, then?” she asks. “What was sooo important that it couldn’t wait?”
“Shut up a minute then, and let me speak,” Carla says. She inches towards the sofa, flirting with the idea of sitting down next to her, and then backs off instantly, nerves taking hold of her. She finds herself hovering awkwardly near the breakfast bar feeling like a lemon, more uncharacteristically anxious than she’s found herself in months. “It’s serious.”
Betsy straightens up a little then, moody expression giving way to concern. “What? What is it? Is something wrong?”
Oh, great. Now she’s worried her. Perfect.
“No! No, no, nothing’s wrong,” she says quickly, words coming out in a jumble. “I’m fine, your mam’s fine, everything’s-- we’re all fine, I promise, love.”
Betsy exhales and gives a little nod, and Carla can breathe again.
“It’s actually... Well, it’s a good thing, actually,” she says. And then she remembers who she’s speaking to, so tacks on, “Well, I mean, I think it is, anyway. Not sure how you might feel about it,” for good measure.
“The suspense is killing me here, Carla,” Betsy says. Her tone is droll, but her face betrays her, a nervous little furrow etching itself into her brow, her bottom lip clasped between her two top teeth. “Spit it out already.”
Carla pushes past the panicky feeling swirling low in her gut and moves until she’s sitting next to her, reaching out and taking the girl’s fidgeting hands in hers, rubbing soothing circles over them until her fingers stop twitching beneath them.
“Just--” she starts, and then promptly stops.
She needs to do this properly, she thinks, but she doesn’t know what that means, or what that’s supposed to look like. Is she supposed to come over all excited? Or should she be calmer, project a more lowkey energy, so that Betsy doesn’t feel bad about however she’s going to feel about the suggestion?
She needs to be prepared for any kind of response, this much she knows. They’ve been getting on well lately, her and Betsy -- sometimes, in the quiet moments, the ones she won’t admit out loud, she’s started to wonder if maybe Betsy’s started thinking of her as some kind of parent, too. If she might finally be properly coming around to the idea of Carla being around all the time, and not just as some temporary fixture with an indeterminate end date on it, something to wait out.
But she knows all too well that it could easily go the other way, too. That Betsy could stand up and yell at her, might spit acid back at even the suggestion, like Carla’s nothing to her, like she’s got no place in their life at all.
She must notice the way Carla’s brain’s going a mile a minute, because she sighs, and tightens her grip on their joined hands. “Carla, what is it? What are you being so weird about?”
Carla laughs a little shakily. “Bit worried you might kick off.”
Betsy sighs, and rolls her eyes. Even still, her hold on Carla's hands remains steady, as if she's realised that the comfort is just as much for Carla as it was herself. "Right. I promise I won't kick off, alright?"
"You haven't heard what it is I've got to say, yet."
"Well, I won't, okay?"
Carla lets out a shaky exhale, and finally, decides to go for it. "Alright, okay. Well. I've been... I've been thinking about maybe... maybe asking your mum to marry me."
Betsy's face betrays nothing.
She doesn't say anything. Doesn't blink. Carla's not sure she's even actually breathing, until--
She laughs. "Carla, is that it?"
"I-- what?"
"I thought something had happened!" She takes an exaggerated breath out, making a show out of slumping back into her seat. "You really need to work on your delivery. I thought you were gonna say we were moving again."
"What, after the fortune we just dropped on this place?" Carla scoffs. "I don't bloody think so."
There's a half-second lull, and Carla rushes to fill it, desperate to get in there before Betsy might actually realise what it is she's just said, and go back on her earlier promise.
"Listen," she says. "I haven't said anything to her about it. I haven't even hinted. So, if you don't want me to, I won't, alright? Just say the word."
Something in Betsy's expression softens then, like that had been the last thing she'd expected Carla to say. "What, really?" she asks, voice a little quiet. "You'd do that for me?"
“Course I would, Bets," Carla says. She moves her hands, disentangling them so that she can rest one against her knee, squeezing gently. "You're the most important thing in your mam's life, you know that."
Betsy looks away a little shyly, cheeks tinging red. For just a moment, she looks exactly like the little kid she loves pretending she's not -- bashful, her face tucked into her own shoulder, preening at just the thought. Carla feels weightless watching her, like she could reach out and feel her own heartbeat thudding in Betsy's pulse if she were only to press her fingers against her wrist.
"And, you know. You're climbing pretty high up in the ranks for me an’ all,” she finds herself admitting, even though she tries not to, wary of showing too much of herself to Betsy in case she takes it the wrong way. It's worth the smile she gets in return, though, toothy and just a little bit embarrassed, half-obscured by the hood of her jumper.
"So, you know... I mean, I'm not saying I’ll hold off forever, but-- if you're not ready yet, then it can wait." She tugs on the sleeve of Betsy's jumper and adds, "It's not like I'm going anywhere."
Betsy doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks down at her feet, eyes squeezed shut like she's considering it deeply. Eventually, she looks up, eyes wide, and says, "I think you should go for it.”
Even though she'd been steeling herself for all reactions, Carla's not sure she'd actually considered the possibility that Betsy might say yes. A shot of adrenaline courses through her at the words, at what they signify: it's on. Betsy had been her biggest hurdle, really -- the thought of how she might react had kept her up at night, anxiety clutching at her windpipe until she couldn't breathe.
“Are you sure?" she forces herself to ask, scared of the answer as she might be. “Because, you know, if you’re not, you can tell me.”
“I’m sure,” Betsy affirms. She sprawls out, pressing her cheek against the blanket draped over the back of the couch. She lifts her legs up and drapes them across Carla’s lap, as if second nature -- normally, Carla would be batting her away before she even had chance to make contact, but she allows it this time, letting her off with just a roll of her eyes. “I mean, it’s hardly surprising, is it?”
Carla frowns. “How’d you mean?”
“I mean, you’re like, obsessed with each other,” Betsy sighs. “It’s grim.”
“Oi!” She reaches over and swats at Betsy’s arm, arms coming up to cross against her chest. “We are not grim, thank you very much.”
“Er, you are a bit," she says, her nose scrunching up in disgust. "You'd think you're my age, the way you're always slobbering all over each other."
Carla lets out a full body laugh, lets the tension she'd been holding inside of her all melt out. She can't help the smile that spreads across her face, or the giddy, childlike excitement that starts bubbling in her stomach at the thought of what comes next. The thought of Lisa being hers, properly and forever.
"Oh, Bets," she says, reaching out and jostling at her leg. "I don't half love you sometimes, you know that?”
"Ew," Betsy grimaces, but there's the hint of a smile threatening to break past her look of permanent disinterest, one she's not quick enough to tamp down before Carla can notice. “Don’t be gross.”
"I'm serious!"
"So am I!" she says. She grabs at one of throw pillows resting underneath her arm and thwacks Carla in the stomach with it too, just for good measure. "Stop being soppy, it's freaking me out. Just like, go back to nagging me about not doing the dishes or summat."
"What, you've still not done those?" Carla can hardly believe what she’s hearing. "Betsy! It's a bowl of cereal and a glass, how flippin' hard can it be!"
A look of regret washes over Betsy’s face comically quickly, and she quickly deflects with, "So, have you bought a ring?"
Carla sighs, but can't find it in herself to be annoyed, not when she already feels so fit to burst with happiness. "Yes, I have," she confirms, smiling at the excited little squeak Betsy lets out. “but it's not come yet, so you'll have to have a bit of patience, alright? I know that’s not your strong suit.”
"Fine," she agrees, sighing dramatically. "But you better show me first. I’m not above withdrawing my approval if I catch wind of Ryan seeing anything before me.”
"Deal," Carla beams, extending her pinky out in the air. Betsy links hers with it easily, and then swings her legs off Carla's lap, shuffling down the sofa until they're sat side by side, arms pressed together, knees knocking. She tries not to let on how pleased she is, lest she scare Betsy off. "Anyway, your mam'll be back in a minute, so let's park it for now, eh? Can't be ruining the surprise with our big gobs can we?”
"'Kay," Betsy agrees easily. Their pinkies still intertwined, she tilts her head until it's resting tentatively on Carla's shoulder, and asks, "Fancy carrying on my MAFSathon down here with me?"
This, Carla knows, her heart seizing with affection towards her, is Betsy's way of mirroring her sentiments back at her, even if she would rather be caught dead than actually say any of them out loud.
"Sounds like a plan," she says, burying her face in the crown of Betsy's head to smother her smile, and pressing a kiss to it too, just for good measure.
And that’s more than enough for her, she reckons.