On Thursday evening, it was a pile of Ainsley’s dirty clothes, left in a heap in the bathroom after Ainsley had showered.
By then, Rachel had enough.
Ainsley had been staying with her until the doctor could find the time and energy to get her own house in order by unpacking all those boxes and arranging her furnishings. At first, Rachel had been delighted. She genuinely loved having Ainsley around. Even though sex had been curtailed until after Ainsley’s period was done, it didn’t matter. They cooked together, they talked about the days they each had, they complained about people who annoyed them—patients, doctors and nurses for Ainsley; dumb-ass clients like Mr. Crawley for Rachel. They shared more about themselves with each other during long talks and just continued growing their friendship.
Ainsley usually fell asleep with her head in Rachel’s lap while they watched TV and then, once they were in bed, Rachel simply loved how they drifted off to unconsciousness holding each other, each taking turns being the big spoon.
In fact, by Thursday, Rachel was thinking that
the sexual hiatus brought about by Ainsley’s period was a good thing. It was forcing her to remove sex from the equation when considering not only their relationship but also this remarkable turn her life had taken. Without the prospect of mind-blowing multiple orgasms each night, Rachel had been able, over the past few days, to simply focus on what it was like being in a relationship with a woman outside of the sex—and if she liked it.
The answer was yes.
She had never felt this kind of easiness before whenever she’d spent this much time with a man; this sense of being connected to a kindred soul. Nor had she ever developed the kind of friendship with a man that she had with Ainsley. It was that variable which made the intimacy her and Ainsley shared that much more meaningful to Rachel.
The point was, if Ainsley’s period lasted another week—god forbid—Rachel knew she would still enjoy being part of this couple and still feel her heart beat just a little bit faster every time she laid eyes on her girlfriend.
That being said…Rachel was getting a little fed up right now.
Scooping up the pile of Ainsley’s clothes, she left the bathroom and discovered her girlfriend on the bed in her pjs, sitting cross-legged and brushing her hair.
“Would you please stop doing this?” Rachel said, standing before the bed.
Ainsley stopped brushing.
“Doing what?”
“This!” Rachel answered, holding out the pile of clothes as if presenting them to the woman in her bed.
Ainsley rolled her eyes and resumed brushing.
“I would have gotten to it, Rach,” she sighed.
“When?”
“I don’t know! Jeez! Whenever!”
“Well, try to make ‘whenever’ sooner next time,” Rachel said. She started walking the bundle of clothes towards the walk-in closet, where the clothes hamper was.
“Wait!”
Rachel turned to see Ainsley scrambling off the bed and stomping over to her.
“I’ll do that,” Ainsley said, snatching the dirty clothes out of Rachel’s hand. “Don’t want you feeling like you’re cleaning up after me…”
Rachel stood there, mouth agape, hands on hips, watching Ainsley march her laundry to the closet.
“Excuse me,” Rachel began, “but I have been cleaning up after you ever since Saturday!”
Ainsley, her errand to the hamper done, approached Rachel and stood in front of her, also with her hands on her hips. Rachel gave a little snort of derision. If Ainsley thought she was going to intimidate her with her height, she was going to discover just how idiotic an idea that was.
“Is that so?” Ainsley asked.
Rachel nodded.
“Yeah, Ains; that’s so. Dirty dishes left everywhere, shoes left everywhere. A bra left on the dining room table? How does that even happen?” Rachel threw up her arms in exasperation. “No, seriously…explain that to me, Ainsley. How does a woman—a surgeon, no less—come home, walk into the dining room and think to herself, ‘Gee, this as good a place as any to start getting undressed?’”
Ainsley’s response was to just shift her weight to her other leg while staring daggers at Rachel.