You woke up in her small childhood bedroom, her breathing slow and dark hair spilled across your pillow. She was 29 and insisted on sleeping in a twin sized mattress that barely fit one person, let alone two adult women.

Joan grumbled in her sleep and shifted, curling around you like a cat as she muttered something about her little siblings. In fact, they were all probably up by now. It was Christmas morning after all and the oldest kid (besides Joan) was 14 while the youngest was 6. Good god did her parents have her young and then have a crisis 15 years later. But it was probably worth it when she came back home to visit for the holidays. She always came back to her family.

You were surprised at how welcoming her family was. Clearly, her parents were fine with her bringing women home. The kids were too young to care about queerness though, but referred to you as Joan's girlfriend anyway.

Another door creaked open from somewhere in the house, you groaned and rubbed your eyes. This was your first time spending a real holiday with her family in Pennsylvania. As soon as you walked through the door, her younger sister, Sarah, who was probably about 9, looked up from some teen magazine and said you look like a sad writer out loud. The audacity. You were a sad writer dating a rockstar though, and your rockstar girlfriend was currently snuggling into your shoulder. She was just Joan. Your Joanie.

You were about the pull the old, thick blankets over you two before the recognizable thud of bare feet came through the hallway. Then came the calling, it was definitely her brother, Micheal.

“JOANIEEEEE!!” He yelled loudly even though you had the door closed, prompting Joan to tightened her grip around you.

“Dad’s starting presents!!”

That woke her up. She exhaled softly and pecked the side of your neck with her lips, before sliding out of bed.