The Weight of Water by Jacqueline Gilsdorf

The Weight of Water by Jacqueline Gilsdorf

For the third day in a row, their backs burned against the sun-bathed dock. The thick air of summer was seasoned with the low hum of mosquitoes. Maggie thumbed through an old poetry book, taking care not to splash water onto the pages from her toe swinging back and forth to skim the lake’s surface. Lydia was lost in thought with her cheek to the warm, worn boards, fingers lazily tracing cracks in the wood. They both welcomed the brief reprieve offered by the occasional lone cloud passing over the sun.

“Are we going to spend every day out here this summer?” Lydia asked, breaking their comfortable silence.

“If it’s up to me, we will,” Maggie replied.

“Good, that’s the way I want it too.”

Maggie went back to her book, and Lydia sat up and turned her attention to the water. She swung her legs over the side of the dock, her back facing Maggie, and dragged her feet back and forth, creating ripples in the otherwise still lake. Her reflection stared back at her, messy braids and freckles smoothed by the distortion of the water. It didn’t quite look like her. She found it fitting, though, because she didn’t quite feel like herself either.

 The old Lydia wouldn’t allow the silence to become tense; she wouldn’t be afraid to scoot closer to Maggie or to make contact with her. The old Lydia wouldn’t allow silence to fall over them at all. She’d be splashing water at Maggie and rolling over to put her head on Maggie’s shoulder and make unprompted comments on the book she’s reading. The old Lydia would laugh as Maggie feigned annoyance and pushed her away. She would push her back, and the two of them would wrestle until someone fell into the water. But the new Lydia was sitting in silence, too deep in thought to acknowledge her best friend only feet away from her. She wondered if maybe they were just getting older. But if they were just getting older, would she be longing for the way things were this much?

Maggie didn’t seem to be phased by this, though. She was lying in the sun, reading a book, just as she’d always done. Nothing has changed for her, it seemed. Inside, she seemed the same, but Lydia couldn’t help but notice how much more gorgeous she looked, bathed in sunlight, water droplets glistening on her skin. Her hair looked shinier, Lydia noted. It had grown from the bob she cut it into two years ago into soft waves that reached halfway down her back. There was a light in her eyes that Lydia hadn’t seen in years. The mischievous glint from childhood had returned, and Lydia had never found her more beautiful.

Maggie had always been pretty, but in an awkward, unsure way, like she didn’t believe it, no matter how much she was told. She had since grown into herself, Lydia thought, and was now all long limbs and dark eyelashes, and buttery-soft lips.

Maggie said something that Lydia didn’t quite hear, and the sound of her voice snapped Lydia from her spiral.

“Whatcha thinking about?” She repeated.

“You.”

 Maggie looked at her quizzically, as if she misheard her. Lydia’s face grew uncomfortably red. She scrambled internally for a way to save herself. Why did she say that? What is wrong with her? One wrong move and their entire friendship is on the line, and Lydia just can’t have that. If Maggie found out that she liked her, then she’ll hate Lydia. She’ll think she’s been lying to her for years, that their friendship was never genuine, and that Lydia has just been trying to get with her and was never really her friend. This isn’t true. Lydia knows deep down that Maggie wouldn’t think that, but worst-case scenarios are her specialty, and losing Maggie is the absolute end-all-be-all, life-ruining worst thing that could ever happen to her.

She pulled her thoughts together and quickly stammered out

“I was thinking about how much I’m going to miss you after this summer.”

Maggie’s brow furrowed slightly. She didn’t press further; she just opened her book and rested it, spine-up, on her face. Lydia tried to formulate a joke in her head about reading by osmosis, but she knew that Maggie would just contrarily correct her that she was just covering her eyes from the sun. The silence, still secreting soft ebbs of tension, was causing Lydia to continue to fidget restlessly again. She was trying so hard to seem like everything was fine and normal and like she wasn’t internally falling apart over the girl sitting two feet away from her.

“Lyd, what’s wrong?”

Lydia looked up at Maggie with tears shining in her eyes and shook her head.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

Lydia’s breath stuttered and caught in her throat. “Maggie,” she pleaded, “don’t make me say it.”

Maggie put her head in her hands and took a deep breath.

“I’m not a mind reader, Lydia. You have to talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. I’m not going to sit here and—”

Lydia’s heart pounded. She didn’t think. She just moved.

Her hands found Maggie’s face. She kissed her. Maggie froze. She didn’t kiss her back. Not yet. But she didn’t pull away, either.

Then suddenly, she was kissing her back. Soft at first, then fuller. And everything in Lydia’s heart melted into a puddle of ecstasy.

Maggie’s hand slid into Lydia’s hair, grounding her, and for a moment, everything Lydia had feared just… dissolved.

Maggie moved one hand to Lydia’s hair and deepened the kiss before she pulled away. They stared at each other breathless, shock outfitting both of their faces.

“I—” Lydia stammers out.

“You don’t—” Maggie choked a breath.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Maggie said, touching her own lips. Lydia wiped the tears from her eyes and turned away.

Maggie put a hand on Lydia’s shoulder and gently turned her back around.

This time, Maggie kissed her.

It was all soft lips and hot breath and strawberry chapstick.

She nipped at Lydia’s bottom lip, and Lydia’s thoughts dissolved like sugar in warm water. Her whole brain turned to static. She didn’t think she’d ever felt this happy. If this moment ended, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

Maggie’s mouth found her ear, and Lydia let out a shaky breath, her head tilting back instinctively. Then Maggie moved to her neck, kissing gently, leaving heat in her wake. Lydia’s fingers threaded into her hair, needing something, anything, to hold onto.

“Wait,” she gasped.

Maggie paused, lips barely hovering over skin. A red mark bloomed on Lydia’s collarbone. “Stop… for a second.”

Lydia froze, anxiety overtaking the euphoria she had felt moments before.

Maggie was still close, eyes scanning Lydia’s face like she was trying to read something written just beneath the surface. Lydia’s skin was still buzzing, her collarbone still warm from where Maggie’s lips had been. Her breath caught, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This couldn’t be real. It felt too soft, too good, too unearned. There was no way Maggie didn’t hate her. Lydia had buried these feelings for years, pressed them down so deep they felt fossilized. She had spent so long convincing herself that this could never happen, that wanting Maggie was the same as losing her. And yet, Maggie was still there. Still close, still breathing the same air, still looking at her like she hadn’t just destroyed everything between them.

She hadn’t run. She hadn’t recoiled or laughed or looked disgusted. She hadn’t said no. She was just there. Real, steady, and inches away. And Lydia didn’t know what to do with that.

Because when had anything she wanted ever actually stayed?

When had something this fragile not shattered in her hands?

And yet, here Maggie was. Not running. Not breaking. Not gone.

And Lydia had no idea how to let herself believe that maybe, just this once, something she wanted wanted her back.

Then Maggie tilted her head, and her crooked smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Well,” she said, tone suspiciously light, “if we’re going to be all serious and emotionally vulnerable today…”

Lydia barely had time to furrow her brows before Maggie’s hands were on her shoulders and she was being shoved. Gently, but with full intent, straight off the dock.

She hit the water with a loud splash and came up sputtering, hair plastered to her face.
“Maggie!” she shrieked, blinking through water, laughing despite herself. “You bitch! I just had an emotional breakdown!”

Maggie was standing at the edge of the dock, grinning like the sun was caught between her teeth. “You’re welcome,” she said. And then she jumped.

She dove cleanly, arms slicing through the water, and when she came up, her hair was dripping, eyelashes heavy with lake water. Lydia was still treading water, heart pounding, not from the fall, not from the cold, but from Maggie swimming toward her with that look in her eyes again. The one that always meant trouble.

And then Maggie kissed her.

Right there in the water, surrounded by sun and ripples and the sound of dragonflies bouncing off the surface. It was all wet lips and breathless laughter and teeth bumping because neither of them could stop smiling. Lydia wrapped her arms around Maggie’s neck, pulling her in, her whole chest a thunderstorm of joy and adrenaline and disbelief.

They broke apart, giggling now, forehead to forehead, the lake gently rocking them like it was in on the secret. Maggie flicked a droplet of water at Lydia’s nose.
“Are you still scared?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, grinning so wide it hurt. “Shut up.”

They floated there together, tangled up in each other, weightless and warm despite the water, sun pouring down like it had always meant for them to end up right there.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Jacqueline Gilsdorf 2025

Image Courtesy: Jschultz2 from Pixabay