Lydia loves the ordinary things.
Waking up beside Allison with the room bathed in sunlight, slipping through the crack in the pastel blue curtains they had picked out two weeks ago.
Allison in her lacy bra and stockings, coming out of the bathroom, hair wet from her shower. She holds up two pencil skirts, one black and one charcoal grey. “Which one?” Lydia, sitting up in bed, the blankets pulled over her naked breasts points at the black one and hums approvingly.
The smell of black coffee and scrambled eggs in the kitchen. The stacks of Lydia’s favorite fruit yogurt in the fridge, which Allison never forgets to buy. A kiss goodbye before work on the small, cramped porch beside their baby pot plant.
Thinking about Allison at work on her lunch break. A text to get through the long hours: At least you get to wear cute clothes at work. And Allison’s response, so quick it’s as if she could feel Lydia’s mood and has been watching her phone: At least you get to be on the medical frontier. Lydia gives a very un-feminine snort and tucks away her phone.
Wine and pizza for dinner because neither of them is an especially good cook. Playing footsie under the table, because why not.
Opening Allison’s blouse when she begins to drift off in front of the tv. Kissing her neck and feeling the warm bubble in the pit of her stomach; nearly purring at the feel of Allison’s hands in her hair.
Allison frisking her off to the bedroom, twirling her around before they land in a giggling heap on the bed.
The look on Allison’s face when she comes, and falling asleep in Allison’s arms without remembering to take off her eyeliner.
It’s the ordinary things that Lydia loves.