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Barbara isn’t as young as she used to be. Which is, well, fine, she supposes - everyone tells her she is aging with grace, something she doesn’t deny, but it doesn’t make it less frustrating to deal with the effects of it, things that make her bones ache and her mind world weary in a way that would have been impossible to imagine, even just ten years ago.
One of the more irritating effects is this - waking in the middle of the night with a full bladder, blinking rapidly at the harsh red light of the large print alarm clock. 2:37am. Wonderful.
She fumbles with the knob on her CPAP machine, clicking it off with numb fingers. The ensuing quiet is almost unnerving. She had spent years as a guest in this house, once Melissa’s and now gloriously theirs, but only recently had she spent her nights in this room, and the shadows play tricks on her eyes as they dance across the walls.
Her bladder twinges again, more insistent, and she takes her cue to slide the mask off of her face single-handedly and attempt to sit up.
She is thwarted by an ironclad grip, and huffs quietly, not at all surprised.
Melissa Schemmenti is a cuddler. This is a fact. Barbara had known this since the early days of their friendship, where Melissa hadn’t shied away from leaning into her side, from grasping Barbara’s hands within her own, from linking their arms together and not letting go until absolutely necessary. Barbara couldn’t allow herself to return the affection, then - knowing that even if it was innocent it meant something in her heart, and that wasn’t right, or fair, or godly.
She rationalized that it was alright if Melissa was the one that initiated, in some poor attempt at absolving herself of guilt, because Melissa is the type who clings, and everyone knows it, refusing to let anything slip through her fingers, whether it be her trusty paring knife or the baseball bat she keeps under her desk “for emergencies” or the people she loves. Especially the people she loves.
Divorcing Joe is the hardest thing Melissa has ever done - it was the right choice, for a million reasons, but letting go felt near impossible. She had clung to Barbara under her porch light in the early summer of ‘98 after kicking him out for good, moths fluttering about their heads, and Barbara had allowed herself the freedom to cling back, just the once. And when Barbara had signed her own divorce papers, an amicable decision but melancholic nonetheless, she had clung to Melissa on her friend’s couch and let herself breathe for the first time in thirty years.
When they had finally, mercifully, started sharing a bed, Barbara had been worried that Melissa would be disappointed. It was one thing to curl up together for a nap, her flaming hair fanned across Barbara’s chest, both of them saying, no, I’m not tired, just resting my eyes, and laughing ruefully at their own ages and excuses. It was another thing entirely to sleep properly, with Barbara’s noisy CPAP in the way, always lying flat on her back, stiff and unmoving. They couldn’t exactly cuddle like this, not in the way they might have some twenty years ago, not in the way Barbara had only occasionally let herself dream about, wrapping her arms around Melissa’s waist and finally letting herself return the affection she had been given in droves.
But Melissa, beautiful spitfire stubborn Melissa, who is just as particular as Barbara, had rolled her eyes at Barbara’s uncharacteristic excuses and apologies when unpacking her things into the room that was now blissfully theirs, for the rest of their lives, and that night curled up to her arm, staking a claim, and asked, this fine? Barbara had to swallow three times before answering, throat tight, more than fine, baby. More than fine.
Tonight, Melissa’s hair is pulled back in a loose braid, a few strands falling free to frame her lovely face. She is curled up in a ball on her side, in a pose resembling that which Barbara is accustomed to seeing at nap time in her classroom, arm twined around Barbara’s like a lifeline, breathing shallow.
Barbara gently tries to pry her arm free, heart aching at the sweet way Melissa’s face scrunches up, brows drawn together. She had a long week, and it was still only Thursday - Barbara doesn’t want to disturb her sleep, which is often restless to begin with, but needs must.
“Honey, let go please. I have to use the ladies room.”
Melissa groans, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, so pretty it hurts. She licks her lips and croaks a barely audible hmm?
“I’ll be right back.”
Melissa relinquishes her arm with some difficulty, grumbling into her pillow, turning her face enough to show Barbara the imprint of the pillowcase on her cheek. Barbara reaches out a hand - to touch her, make sure she is real, that this exquisite vision is not some figment of her imagination, her mind just failing with age, Gregory’s poor taste comment holding actual water - but draws back at the last second. Guilt pools in her gut when Melissa’s face doesn’t smooth back out, wriggling on the mattress, restlessness overtaking her half asleep frame.
She turns away, and gets out of bed.
It takes Barbara very little time to take care of her business, flinching at the loud flush of the toilet and the unexpected heat of the tap water, and is back in bed within three minutes. Melissa is awake now, and bitterness coats her tongue, because she knows Melissa is not going to fall back asleep anytime soon, and they only have a few hours left before they need to be out the door and dealing with classrooms of unruly angels and evening parent-teacher conferences.
“I’m sorry,” Barbara murmurs as she settles back in, and Melissa blinks at her, slowly. Her voice is still laden with sleep, even raspier than normal. Barbara shivers.
“What for?”
“Disturbing your sleep.”
“Ya didn’t,” she lies, and Barbara just looks at her, lips pursed, clear even in the darkness of their room. Melissa amends. “Okay, you did, but it isn’t a big deal, Barb.”
She pulls Barbara’s arm back to her, staking her claim once more, and presses a kiss to her pulse. Barbara feels that familiar ache crawling up her throat, stinging her eyes. Saint Melissa, her savior.
“Still-”
She is tired, exhausted, and knows Melissa feels just as, but she can’t let it go, because Melissa had waited years for Barbara, for their life together, never asking for too much, forgiving every trespass and transgression, and Barbara was still wasting their time, disturbing her when she should be sleeping peacefully.
Melissa laces their fingers together, presses a kiss to her knuckles, and leans up so she can look Barbara in the eye properly. She looms so large in their bed, shadows creeping around her frame, eyes still so kind, even in the darkness.
“Barb, I don’t care if you need to get up five times a night, as long as you come back to bed. Hell, if you want I’ll join you and be your bathroom buddy.”
That pulls a laugh from her, a little wet and shaky, but a laugh nonetheless. Melissa kisses her temple, then her cheek, her jaw, her ear, like she can’t help herself. Barbara selfishly hopes she never stops.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, dear.”
“Yeah, well, the offer stands. Now go back to sleep.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Melissa gifts her a parting kiss on the mouth, a gentle chaste thing, and Barbara’s heart sings.
…………………………………………………
The next night, Melissa makes good on her offer.
Fridays were a blessing, because they carried with them the eagerness of a well deserved break. This week even moreso, with a three day weekend for the students, meaning that Barbara and Melissa could fully relax for two whole days before devoting the third day to planning.
And Melissa had worn a beautiful cerise top, cut just a bit lower than normal, and wrapped one of her many leather jackets around Barbara’s shoulders when they had left the school building to keep her warm when she didn’t feel like going back to grab her shawl from the teacher’s lounge, all of which were just the cherries on top of the perfect sundae that was now Barbara Howard’s life.
They had spent a quiet evening in, Melissa trying a new recipe and gently guiding Barbara away from any attempt to help her.
“I am happy to assist-”
“You can assist by sitting your pretty self at my counter and drinking your wine. I like a little eye candy while I cook.”
“Girlfriend, be serious.”
“I am serious - seriously into you babe.”
“Hmph.”
Barbara had indeed sat, and drank a very modest two glasses of wine, face warm. Eyes lingering on the nape of Melissa’s beautiful neck, uncovered with her hair thrown up in a haphazard bun that had no right being as attractive as it was, she thought to herself, my, I hope this is what the good Lord has in store for us after, too. Melissa was even relaxed enough to sing, just a bit, the familiar lyrics to Sinatra rolling off her tongue as she chopped and stirred and flipped. Dinner had turned out delicious, of course, and they had reclined on the couch until both of them started to drift, calling it an early night after such a long week.
A perfect evening. But as Barbara awakens to a familiar pressure on her bladder she can’t help but feel a little bit sour. CPAP knob switched to off, mask removed, she begins the process of gently extricating herself from Melissa’s loving hold.
When she does, groaning as her hips pop when she stands, Melissa sits up as well, stretching her arms high above her head, blinking rapidly against the darkness of the room.
Barbara sighs, all too familiar guilt welling in her gut, and goes to the bathroom. She opens the door, flicks on the light, squinting as it assaults her senses - only to turn, finding Melissa right behind her.
“Sweetie?”
“Hmm?”
“What-”
Melissa grins, eyes twinkling.
“I’m your bathroom buddy, remember?”
Barbara lets out a short, sharp laugh, more disbelief than anything.
“Girl.”
“Go on Barb, I’ll stand guard.”
“And what, pray tell, are you guarding me from?”
Melissa just smirks, mischievous and self-satisfied, like she has won some little game only she knows about.
Barbara loves her, so much.
She finishes up quickly, drying her hands on the kitschy hand towel, feeling a rush of affection at the sight of her love leaning comfortably against the door jamb, eyes slipping closed. She’s clothed in nothing more than an old threadbare Eagles jersey, and the hem of it barely brushes the tops of her pale thighs. Barbara has the sudden urge to touch her, to smooth warm palms across her skin, to trace every freckle and stretch mark, to map them with her mouth, to worship. Melissa deserves nothing less.
She is a vision, Barbara’s wildest dreams come true, and so she can’t help but reach out and pull her into a tight embrace, hiding her encroaching tears in a crown of fiery hair.
“Barb, you good?” Her voice is patient and so, so kind, and her hands find Barbara’s waist immediately, giving her a comforting squeeze. Barbara squeezes her shoulders in return, planting a long kiss to the side of her head.
“I love you,” she murmurs, which is the only answer she can give. Melissa laughs, warm and raspy, sending delicious shivers up Barbara’s spine.
“I love you too.”
And Melissa, sweet, perfect, Melissa, let’s Barbara hold her in the light of the bathroom for a long, long time, sleep be damned.