Mango Ice Cream
Part 2
By JewWitch
Abby woke with the rich pink light of dawn spilling over her face, along with Neela's curled fingers. She smiled into the warm hand resting against her cheek, feeling the grin bloom out of her like a tugging sensation; it was as if the sleeping woman next to her actually held a magnet in her hand, drawing out Abby's delight by some force that was completely beyond her control. With a long, lazy stretch, Abby opened her eyes and glanced at the clock, quickly turning off the alarm when she saw that it was just two minutes to six. She didn't want Neela to wake to the harsh, unforgiving buzz.
Truth be told, she didn't want Neela to wake up at all, not yet. Rolling back onto her side, Abby felt her smile cranking up several notches as she took in the sight of her peacefully slumbering bedmate. God, Neela looked too young to be a doctor right now, with her face smashed into the pillow, lips slightly parted, her long lashes framing the curve of those artful eyelids. She hardly looked old enough to be a college graduate. Then again, Abby felt about sixteen years old herself right at the moment, so she supposed it all balanced out. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way; giddy and warm and full of uncomplicated adoration for someone, someone she just wanted to lie here and savor. Neela wasn't like anyone else Abby had ever known; she wasn't trying to fix Abby, or save her, or be saved by her. Maybe it was partly because she was Indian, and had escaped the particular psychosis of Christianity and the martyr complex that went along with it. Whatever it was, Abby felt no fear of Neela's baggage, the way she normally did when she fell for someone. A line from an old song popped into her head suddenly: I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine.
When she couldn't smile any harder, all the rest of her giddiness welled up and compelled Abby to lean into Neela's warm body, reaching out and gently tracing her fingertip over the sleeping girl's face. Starting with the elegant arch of her brow, Abby slowly grazed down her cheekbone, across the bridge of her nose and down to the tip, deciding right then and there that Neela had the cutest nose in the whole wide world. She kept up her gentle exploration, her fingers finding Neela's lips next and basking in their softness as the object of her affections began to stir and sigh. She mumbled a few words, then rolled from her side onto her stomach, one arm winding around Abby's hip to come into warm, solid contact with the small of her back. They both gave a long, low sigh of satisfaction. Then Abby let her hand wander from Neela's face to her raven-black hair, the glossy strands tickling the spaces between each of her fingers as her palm came to rest at the nape of that elegant neck. This, Abby thought lazily as she drank in the swooping curve of Neela's closed eyelids, is better than ecstasy.
They were still in this position, snuggled together in the pale light of early morning, when Neela's eyes began to flutter, opening finally with a completely unselfconscious sigh as the waking world filtered in. Abby just watched her, another rush of enthusiastic butterflies surging through her when those enormous onyx eyes turned up at her.
"Morning," Neela murmured, her voice husky with sleep and the remnants smoke inhalation from the previous night's adventures.
"You look like a song when you're sleeping," Abby murmured back, too caught up in the easy moment to stop and think about what she was saying. But Neela didn't look like she was complaining; a huge, sleepy smile stole over her face, and she drew her hand from the warmth of Abby's back to lightly stroke her cheek.
"My, you're poetic in the morning, aren't you?" Neela chuckled, stretching out her limbs with a huge yawn.
"Sleep well?"
"Mmm."
"You were talking in your sleep a little while ago."
"Was I?" Neela cocked her head in interest. "What did I say?"
"No idea," Abby said cheerfully.
"Oh…" Neela grinned apologetically. "Punjabi?"
"Well it wasn't English, that's all I know," Abby shrugged. As Neela rolled onto her back, Abby reached out and snuck a hand up under her flannel pajama top, stroking her stomach in soft, lazy circles. Neela sighed and arched her back, giving Abby the impression of an overlarge kitten. "Do you dream in Punjabi a lot?" she asked curiously.
"Not as much as I used to," Neela said with another sigh, eyes half-lidded under the effects of Abby's tummy-rub. "Before I came to the states, it was about fifty-fifty…bugger, has it really been ten years since I left home?" She shook her head slightly. "S'pose it's just slipping away a bit…I never speak it anymore, do I?" Turning back onto her side, Neela regarded Abby anew. "Of course, I could always teach you, and then we could talk to each other all we like without anyone knowing what we're saying…" The suggestion, coupled with Neela's impish, goofy smirk, made Abby snort with laughter.
"What, you wanna talk dirty to me at work?"
"Maybe." The innocent look of desire that accompanied these words made Abby feel suddenly and unaccountably shy; she looked away, chuckling nervously. "I'll make some flashcards, then, shall I?" At this, they both burst out laughing, and Abby was pleased to see that Neela wasn't coughing at all.
"So, you feeling better, babe?"
"Much," Neela nodded, feeling her face heating up a bit. She decided she liked it when Abby called her babe. She liked it quite a lot.
"Good, that means I can feed you a real breakfast," Abby grinned, finally sitting up and throwing her legs over the side of the bed. "Blueberry pancakes sound good?"
"Mmm…splendid," Neela moaned happily. "I'll make some coffee."
Breakfast passed quickly, the two of them falling easily into a pattern that was familiar and comfortable; they'd shared plenty of breakfasts before, of course. But this was different, though there were moments when they both seemed to forget-- there was a recklessness in the lack of any particular set of rules of conduct between them, the overlapping layers of intimacy smoothing down the edges of awkwardness in what was and wasn't their first morning together. When the table had been cleared and the dishes done to the tune of their favorite morning radio station, Neela announced that she was going to take a shower, and it was then that Abby faltered. She was the one who had said they shouldn't rush; but suddenly she didn't know what she'd meant by it. Was she supposed to give the younger woman space now; wait for Neela to come to her? She didn't want to be too aggressive and scare the young intern off. When they had first been roommates, Neela's overdeveloped sense of British propriety had nearly been their undoing. But they were on much more solid ground now; weren't they? Abby was afraid to overwhelm the young woman, but she also didn't want to let herself fall into a trap of creating an unequal power dynamic between them; if this was ever going to work, she had to trust Neela to say what she wanted, or didn't want, without any coddling.
"…Abby?" The way Neela said her name, one eyebrow cocked, suggested it wasn't the first time she'd been called.
"Huh?" Abby looked up from her internal rant distractedly. Neela grinned, an easy, indulgent, what-am-I-ever-going-to-do-with-you grin.
"Aren't you coming?"