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Lee and Crystal have been given a lot of rules and "supposed to" and "should." They've never been good at staying on someone else's path.
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It's supposed to go like this.
There's a dinner and some candle light and some wine. The table is small and they sit close. They share a dish, feed each other. Each bite is a burst of flavor: the sweet, heavy ripeness of the tomatoes; the pungent tang of the garlic; the creamy slide of the sauce; the heady richness of the meat; the tart bite of the wine. The food is rich and lush, and it's a symbol of their passion for each other. He holds out her chair, waits for her to be seated. They hold hands over the top of the table, fingers tangled. He brings a hand to her face, stares deeply in her eyes. She smiles, leans forward to kiss him. It's quiet and private and personal, just for them.
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The fairy tales say it's happily ever after. You meet your prince and you ride off into the sunset. It's the white dress, the guests, the cake, the car, the whole darn thing. It's pretty and wrapped up in a bow. There are no struggles, no worries. The evil queen is defeated and the stepsisters shamed. It is, after all, happily ever after.
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At night, it's supposed to be soft moonlight, silky sheets, and gentle lovemaking. Or else it's supposed to be torn clothes, and unending passion, not being able to get close enough to the other person, not being able to pull yourself further inside, where you belong. It's supposed to be shared heartbeats. It's being wrapped up in sheets and one another, touching from ankle to shoulder.
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The picture on the mantle has a family in crisp clothes, a father and a mother and their two (or three or four) perfectly groomed kids. The dog sits in front, clean and well behaved. It's Easter or Mother's Day or something, and they're going to brunch after the picture is taken. And after that, maybe they'll go for a drive, something together as a family.
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It ends up being none of those things and all of those things.
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Lee's mom says a relationship grows and changes and compares it to a comfortable pair of jeans. It fits and it's not particularly glamorous, but it's comfortable and you know it's always there. After he stops laughing, Lee's dad tries to pretend that he's hurt, that he's no longer glamour and sizzle and flash, but he can't and then he starts laughing again. He kisses his wife and Crystal looks at Lee, sees him in his father.
Mike compares it to slippers, and then Christa smacks him and tells him he can sleep on the couch. He makes kissy faces at her and apologizes and she huffs and tells him she'll think about it. Later, in the kitchen, Christa confides that it kind of is like a pair of slippers. "They just always fit, you know?" she asks. Crystal nods, because she kind of does. "It's work, but it's comfortable work and you know it's there, at the end of the day, whatever."
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The thing is, Crystal knows all about work. It isn't happily ever after, it doesn't just happen. You work for it. You work for your career and your friends and your body and your life. Why should your love be any different? Crystal knows that and she works and it's not easy, it never has been. She's always worked.
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Once, when they first started being a "them," they decided they should go out on a real date. They were best friends and they had shared their beds, but everyone was so surprised that Lee hadn't taken her out to a nice restaurant with more courses than she'd ever need and a wine list longer than the menu and a different person serving each dish and enough utensils for everyone on their tours. And Lee was a romantic and Crystal still was, sometimes, and it was a nice idea. So he made the reservations at this fantastic restaurant in LA, and she got ready at her place. It was silly, they were going to end up at the same place afterwards, but it was kind of nice, that he'd pick her up and open doors and it'd be special. And she wore this red dress, a deep V in the back and a low scoop in the front. Her hair was tied up and her jewelry was smaller and she was so worried about it all – the color and the fit and the style – but the babysitter gave her a thumbs up when she came down the stairs, and Lee. His mouth opened and he stared and he couldn't say more than "wow," whispered reverently one, two, three times. When he finally stopped, looked at her, he blushed, reached out a hand. She took his hand and felt better, felt wonderful, and it was a good night.
Except they didn't do that anymore.
It wasn't that they didn't enjoy it, it was wonderful. The meal was fantastic and everything, but they felt silly, sitting there like they weren't themselves, like they were playing a part. They could sit silently with each other and it wasn't awkward, but this felt manufactured and planted. They tried to stare lovingly in each other's eyes, but it was silly and then he got a song idea and she made fun of him for coming up with it while they gazed at each other. He smiled, and it was okay then, this was finally normal.
But after harassing everyone for a paper and pen so they could jot down song ideas, they probably weren't welcome back. Besides, her clutch was too small to carry a notebook, and that just wasn't right.
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It goes like this.
They run around, day in and day out. There are meetings and the house and recording. There's Tony to think about (and one day more, he says to her at night, when it's just the two of them), to make sure one of them is around with him, to make sure they don't abandon him so they can live their dreams. There's the dog and their cats and there's laundry and the lawn and grocery shopping.
They order in, or they cook, and they've both gotten really good. When they have time, they try new recipes, ones with tons of steps and ingredients from specialty stores. When they're in a hurry, they make spaghetti. Sometimes, they sit and watch a movie with Tony while they eat. Once, they watched Lady and the Tramp and Lee nudged a meatball over to her. When she finished laughing at him, she kissed the sauce off his nose and told him she was not sharing a noodle. Tony looked at them like they were crazy and when they kissed again, he shut his eyes with a loud, "moooooom gross!"
They write together and for each other, and that means that work comes home, and that's fine. It's one more way they make sure they're together. There are notepads all over the house, because they know that sometimes, inspiration strikes, and she's never again bringing Lee a pen and paper in the bathroom.
In bed, it's familiar, but it's never routine. They know each other's bodies, they know how the other moves and what to do. This is a dance they've danced, last night and before, and tonight, and tomorrow and every night on. And some nights it's slow and gentle and other nights it's furious and rough, and some nights they're too tired to do more than reach out and find each other with searching hands before falling asleep. But every night is a whisper, a kiss, a reminder of what they have, of what they'll wake up to.
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When they leave his parents' house, he looks at her, grins. Asks her how his favorite pair of jeans is doing. She laughs, slips under his arm, tucks herself around him.
"It's not, you know," she says.
"Not what?" he asks, searching for his keys.
"It's not an old pair of jeans, and it's definitely not slippers," she says. He looks at her, raises an eyebrow. She looks up at him. "It's your best jeans with a pair of great shoes. It's comfortable because you know it looks good, but it won't stay comfortable if you don't work to keep the fit right."
He laughs. "Are you saying I'm fat?" he asks.
She giggles, pinches his side. "I'm just saying, if you want it to fit and be comfortable and wearable all day and all night and all your life, you make sure you work to make it happen."
He stares at her, a smile on his face. If it was anyone else, she'd wonder if she made sense, if she sounded stupid. But then he kisses her and she knows.
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She won't walk away from this, because that hurts everyone and she's seen that. Besides, he wouldn't let her walk away. Because he knows that it's work too.