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“you are supposed to reach and reach and reach for me.” - bella townsend
…
Tourists are out in full swing and traffic is horrendous. The cab Lauren's been stuck in for the last half hour is stuffy and stinks of smoke; she's sweaty, annoyed and over it.
The cab driver swerves left, curses sharply under his breath and slams on the breaks. Rolling down the window, he yells out something to the car ahead as they whiz by, then rolls up the window and keeps driving like everything’s normal.
He keeps grumbling as he drives, and Lauren is too tired to give a fuck.
She rifles through her bag, finds a Halls and unwraps it. It's cherry, her least favourite flavour but it's better than nothing. She worked through lunch and without Helen slipping her weirdly healthy but delicious snack bars she's been living off lozenges.
Her phone buzzes and she paws through her bag, hoping it's Helen.
Helen has been in Switzerland for 2 weeks, some cancer research conference with doctors from all around the world. This is the longest she's been away from her in the year since they've been together and Lauren doesn't like it. She's never been one to yearn but she misses Helen and is tired of coming home to an empty house.
She picks up but the screen is black and she thinks maybe the call dropped but then it unfreezes and she's greeted by Helen's smiling face.
"Hi," Lauren says, wishing she was home.
The cabbie has his eyes on the road but she puts up the divider anyway. It doesn't help much but it makes her feel a little better.
"Are you out? Should I call back later?" Helen asks.
"No!" Lauren hears herself, the eagerness in her voice and coughs to hide it. "I mean, no, it's fine. I'm in a cab but I've got the divider thingy up and traffic is moving so I'll be home soon."
Her responding "miss you too," to Helen's soft "I miss you," is quiet but she can't help her smile.
Texting and quick calls are okay but she misses actually seeing Helen's face.
Helen's returning grin is so wide that for a calm moment, Lauren forgets she's rotting in the back of a cab.
"How's the conference? New York is disgusting as usual, and I'm melting in a cab, please tell me your day is going better."
"It's wonderful, you wouldn't believe who I was sat next to during the first panel!"
"Who?" Lauren rolls down the window then quickly rolls it back up when all she gets is a puff of heat to the face.
"Doctor Sima! And he told me he loves Dr. Helen. Isn't that amazing, I mean can you believe he watches me? And—" Her screen freezes again, flashes. Lauren’s phone buzzes off and she sighs.
At least she's almost home. The cab is a few minutes from her place and she considers paying and walking but in the end, she stays. The seat groans as she slouches down and she closes her eyes and wishes she was anywhere else.
/
Lauren wakes from her nap about 2 hours later than she meant to. It's the longest she's slept in days.
These days, sleep is mostly a memory. She goes to bed early (for her), does everything right. She's tried the teas and melatonin and once, some hippy aromatherapy mix she bought at the farmers market but nothing works. Most nights are spent staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what it felt like to sleep. There are thoughts too, racing thoughts, about everything and anything that replay in her head like her own personal broken record. Little things, big things, stuff from her day and from work embed themselves in her mind, keep her up.
Sleeping at Helen's helps. Tucked up behind her (because she is always the big spoon, when they cuddle which, she has accepted they do quite a bit of) with the lights off in Helen's room, she feels safe. The thoughts are still there, they're always there but they're quieter. Sleep doesn't always come quickly and sometimes it doesn't come at all but it's better than staring at her ceiling in her own room. It's colder these days when she's home alone.
A glance at her phone tells her Helen's flight should be landing within the hour. It'll take her maybe 2 hours to get to town so Lauren has some time. Helen told her earlier not to wait up, but Lauren would have been up anyway and she's missed her a lot more than she anticipated and wants to see her.
She cleans up, washes the few dishes in her sink and opens a window to air out the place. She really isn't home a lot and the time spent there is mostly to shower and change. The apartment has been in her family for years, first belonging to her father's parents then, her father and now her.
At its most organized it looks a little like a sample room, one pictured in a catalogue. She's not much for decoration anyway and since she doesn't spend much time there, it doesn't bother her.
Everything has a place. The familial remains, pictures, old furniture and the few broken projects and gifts she and Vanessa made for their dad are in the storage space downstairs. In her actual apartment, she has maybe one album and some stuff from college. Old sweaters and papers that she can't bring herself to get rid of.
Other than that, her place is lacking sentimentality. Just the way she likes it.
She puts the dishes away and after quick deliberation changes into shorts and a tank, tracks down her sneakers. She hasn't gone running in a while but her mind is racing and she feels wired, so she laces up her shoes and heads out.
An hour later she is out of breath and refreshed, the run helping her release some of that pent up energy. She showers and packs a bag. Her phone says Helen should have landed by now and Lauren makes her way to her place.
*
It's late when Helen finally stumbles through the door, exhausted and sleep-deprived. Her plane delayed for almost an hour and had her sat in a cold airport for longer necessary. It's been a long day and she's irritiable and tired.
Yellow socks, balled up into worn white converse are shoved in the corner. It's a good effort. Usually, Lauren tosses her shoes on the ground, almost purposefully ignoring the shoe rack but it seems she's been partially reformed.
Helen slowly wheels her suitcase into the living room, trying to be quiet, in case Lauren is asleep. The TV is on, playing some local news station that she turns it off.
In the silence, she can hear sounds coming from the kitchen. She leaves her suitcase, creeps into the kitchen and is met with Lauren, standing with her back to her, stirring something on the stove.
It's such an unfamiliar scene that Helen pauses and stands at the kitchen door to watch, just for a minute.
Lauren doesn't cook. She's excellent at takeout, and a pro a delivery but ask her to boil and egg and she blanks.
Helen gazes on, feels warmth in her heart, a tenderness that she's come to associate with Lauren. It no longer catches her off guard, this overwhelming care she has for another person. Racing hearts and butterflies have given way to something else, something more gentle but no less intense and Helen welcomes it, revels in it.
Watching Lauren tend to her concoction is equal parts adorable and hilarious and Helen could watch her flit around all night but Lauren must make a mistake because she sighs, whispers, "dammit," then bangs the ladle on the stove.
Lauren is wielding the ladle like a weapon. Her hair is falling out of its ponytail and she's flushed, biting on a nail. She's beautiful and ridiculous and Helen huffs out a laugh.
Lauren jumps at the sound, turns around. "You're early!"
Helen smiles, shakes her head. "No, I'm late. It's almost 2am."
"It is?" Lauren taps at her phone on the counter. "It is. Shit."
There's a beat, a moment where they're just staring at each other, and then Lauren is moving, bouncing on her toes, her grin impossibly wide.
"You're here!" she exclaims, turning off the stove.
"I am."
"Hi."
"Hello," Helen says back. She leaves her spot from the doorway, crosses the room in a few steps and grabs at the collar of Lauren's shirt.
They kiss, slow and soft at first then Helen backs Lauren into the counter, all 14 days she's been away catching up to her. She sucks Lauren's bottom lip into her mouth, digs her hands into her waist, swallows her quiet moans.
Lauren slides her hands in her back pocket, pulls them flush against each other and plasters soft kisses onto her neck.
"What's in the pot?" Helen asks, pulling back slightly, breath loud in the kitchen.
"I tried to make dinner? Actually breakfast since that's y'know, easy." Lauren looks up at her, bites at her bottom lip, uncharacteristically hesitant.
"This is flaxseed oatmeal. Or it's supposed to be. I figured you'd be hungry but I think I fucked it up 'cause it's all hard."
Helen kisses her again because Lauren is sweet but she is a terrible cook. Faintly, she knows that her pot is burned and she'll probably care in the morning but right now she's home.
"There are pancakes in the microwave." Lauren murmurs against her lips. "Blueberry banana."
She's out of breath and looking at Helen like maybe she's the best thing she's seen all day, and Helen can't stop kissing her, wants to forget the food and take her to bed.
"Baby," Lauren whispers, pulling away gently, "the food's going to get cold."
Helen releases her hold on Lauren's collar, smoothes down her shirt. "You made more?"
"I tried to do a whole thing," she says with a wry smile.
Fatigue catches up to Helen and she yawns, loud and long.
Lauren runs her fingers back and forth on her waist. "Maybe we should hold off until it's actually morning? We could heat it up later."
"No, I'm fine. And starving." Helen takes off her jacket suddenly aware of the zipper digging into her chest. "I'm going to change and then we'll have breakfast."
"Don't expect too much," Lauren calls after her.
After quickly changing into sleep shorts and a t-shirt, Helen joins Lauren at the kitchen table. There are pancakes, hashbrowns, yogurt, bacon and a tiny bowl of oatmeal with bananas and strawberries on top. There's even water with lemon crookedly wedged on top which makes Helen's heart swell. Lauren has really tried and Helen knows she wouldn't want her to gush over it so, she doesn't.
She eats it all, even the oatmeal which is actually terrible. After, Helen makes them both some chamomile tea, then crawls into Lauren's lap, tries to translate her gratitude through strawberry flavoured kisses.
They go to bed soon after, catching up between kisses, until Helen can't keep her eyes open. Curling into Lauren’s side, Helen lets herself drift away.