And Our Parents

Part 10 ( (Do It On My) Twin Bed

Becky wakes up in an unfamiliar place. She blinks to clear her vision, but it only confirms that she is not in her bedroom. A tiny thrill of fear as she scans her surroundings before noting with relief that she does recognize the location after all.

She's in Freen's bed. After taking care of her in her sickness, Freen begged her to stay the night, and it was impossible to say no to that pitiful snot-nosed little face. So Becky stayed.

Seeing as the couch was already germed up, and Becky had been laying next to Freen all day anyway, she figured there was no harm in sleeping together in the queen bed. Sadly, Becky was wrong: there was indeed harm and injury dealt by sleeping next to the biggest tossing, turning, kicking, blanket-stealing monster in all of the world. Halfway through the night, Becky made her peace with the fact that she'd have no covering and tried to find refuge at the far side of the bed, but was still woken occasionally by a stray kick to the back.

Becky reaches over to feel Freen's forehead. She stays dead asleep at the touch, so much so that Becky also decides to check her pulse and confirm she's still alive. From the coolness of her skin, it seems her fever has cleared. Merely a forty-eight-hour bug.

Becky looks down at her for a minute. Takes in Freen's tangled mess of blonde hair, her soft cheek pressed up against her fancy silk pillow, the tiny amount of drool escaping from her open mouth.

This is the woman Becky is hopelessly attracted to.

Becky climbs out of bed and enjoys an indulgently long shower in Freen's incredible bathroom to get the sick-feeling off of her skin. Then, after checking that Freen remains asleep, she elects to let her snooze, and ventures to the kitchen in search of food.

The contents of the state-of-the-art silver fridge are as follows:

Six Yoplait yogurts in various flavors.

Two bottles of Prosecco.

End of list.

Becky rubs her face, grabs her purse, and leaves the apartment, making sure to steal Freen's keys from the hook by the door as she goes. She makes a quick trip to the corner store, which is small, but supplies the few essentials Becky seeks: bread, milk, eggs.

On her way back, she notices that the bougie handcrafted pantry next door has also just opened, and on a whim, she pops in and buys a small bottle of maple syrup and a pot of marmalade that combined, total almost half a paycheck. Normally Becky would balk at that thought, but Freen will surely appreciate the classy additions, and maybe splurging once in a while isn't so bad.

She's back to the kitchen, well in the midst of making a batch of french toast when Freen finally stumbles out of the bedroom, half awake.

"Am I dreaming?" she mumbles.

"You are not," Becky says, as she flips a perfectly browned piece of toast from the frying pan onto a plate.

Freen saunters over to grab Becky around the waist, laying her chin atop Becky's head. "It's not often I wake up to a woman still here. Cooking me breakfast. What does this make us?"

Becky turns around, wraps her arms around Freen's shoulder, and tucks a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. She presses onto her tiptoes and kisses Freen gently. "It makes us even."

Freen retreats to shower and dress while Becky finishes frenching the rest of the toast, and soon they're both hungrily tearing into Becky's handiwork.

"Well," Becky says, as she chews the last bite of her toast. "Fun as this impromptu slumber party was, it's about time for me to head home." She wipes some crumbs from her face with a napkin, and begins bringing the dishes to the sink.