My Life A Strange Stream

You’ve said this line to her once—maybe twice in her living room and it was just as corny as you hoped it would verbally land when you decided you both needed a vacation.

It’s not like it was a common thing for Baran by any means.

Not until she stuck around PTMC for awhile.

Take that how you will.

This was simply a weekend in August but even still, excitement filled your bones.

Deep Creek Lake became the winner.

However the tremble of Baran’s warm thighs underneath you gained the medal.

AND EXACTLY WHO YOU WANT TO BE,

Baran watched you maneuver around the large white sheet you stole from a hallway closet, using it as a blanket since you found it unnecessary to drive out to the nearest (which actually wasn’t near at all) department store for your little “Fête champêtre,” the older woman called it since you hated the word, “picnic.”

Dating again hadn’t occurred to Baran, although she has been divorced for roughly four years now. Of course family and friends always questioned it, encouraging her to get back out there but Baran’s main focus was always her son, Kazem, and her career.

Until she found you.

Mouthing off to someone at the contemporary art museum. It seemed to Baran that you may have tried to be reasonable with the guy you were tearing into, who sat on a bench with his elbows digging into his knees spaced out from you going off on him.

The way your voice kept leveling up and down was enough for Baran to realize you were having an internal battle with keeping your cool.

You were inside a museum after all.

Until you fanned your hand at a lady that walked by, bright eyes signaling that she didn’t know what your problem was and that she took great pity for the man that was getting scolded.

That didn’t sit too well with you and that lady got a piece of you too that day.

Come to find out?

You were just really passionate about the botanical garden section and highly upset that the guy—who was your sibling’s significant other—sent flowers to your sister’s job to make up for whatever disagreement they got into.

People always tended to bring you into their drama.

Your sister being the main one.

She was badly allergic to flowers and the ones this guy sent were actually your mother’s favorites instead…which is another shitty tale for another time.

Let’s just say…your mother’s type always ended up being your sister’s.

It’s as gross as you’re probably thinking but again! That’s tea for another time.

The day Baran met you, she was also at the museum with her best friend who snuck off to screw the security guard somewhere in the building. Claimed it kept things spicy when he’s on the clock. It was a situationship that Baran didn’t fully support and stood on that—not minding if it seemed too judgmental but this particular friend didn’t make the best decisions.

Ever.

They weren’t in college anymore and Baran always tried to be as empathic as she could but some patterns couldn’t be rearranged.

So that’s how Baran went strolling through the museum on her own, finding you yelling at your soon to be brother-in-law.

“Hydrangeas are very different from peonies,” Baran found herself saying, catching you outside as you leaned against the pillar grumbling to yourself. Still irritated.

Your eyes cut to the doe-eyed woman, arms folded tight to your chest. “Thank you! You can’t tell these men anything. I try to help and then I look like the bad guy but ask me if I give a shit? I don’t. He’s an idiot.”

Baran laughs a little, “Perhaps he’s not a flower guy.”

A scoff flies out your lips, “Yeah right! He thought of them enough to send them to my sister. They’ve been dating for six months and he should know by now that flowers aren’t her thing because she’s allergic. Then on top of that? Sends her the ones our mom likes? Red flag! And also I’m being a red flag for airing out my business to a complete stranger when I just told that nosy lady off earlier.”

Baran sends you a gentle smile and a light shrug, “Dont worry about it. Talking to strangers is kinda my thing.”

Baran stared at you like you put stars in her round eyes (you kinda did with your skilled fingers and tongue, she knows that would be your exact response if Baran dared spoke up about what you two were just up to), pulling down the ends of her white linen dress, while you let out a sigh lounging on your side.

The lake view shared the same sentiments as Baran’s brown eyes while it sparkles back at the both of you. The older woman has to fight to break her eyes away from you, whom rests so at ease, now taking in the view too as her breathing attempts to get back on track.

“Doing alright over there?” You question casually, popping a black grape into your mouth, although the corner of your mouth lifts in a way that Baran knows you’re teasing.

Her hand goes up into the air, bracelet jingling against her wrist as she did so before her fingers disappear into her thick tousled hair. She sharply exhales through her nose, peering at you underneath her lengthy eyelashes in fair warning.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re fine.” The pink tip of your tongue trails around your lips, savoring the taste of two pleasant fruits, “Radiant even. But you probably need more sunscreen on your thighs. Some might have slid off.”

Baran swats you then, your boisterous laugh filling the air that it beats out any breeze or chirp floating around you.

There’s a twitch of a crooked smile falling onto her lips afterwards, her own fingers reaching almost towards you before pulling a toasted croissant from the basket.

She spreads her favorite fig jam along the pastry, you lay on your back for a few moments, then your hands find Baran’s shades to place over your eyes, protecting them before you dive back into some fiction novel that brought out so many emotions in you.

You’ve only had the book for maybe a week, just suddenly having the urge to pop into a bookshop downtown after some appointment. However that didn’t stop you from diving right in, taking it nearly everywhere with you. Even if you stayed over at Baran’s, you were up against her headboard, nose buried in the novel, dim lamp on your side of the bed, while the woman rested comfortably on her right side, eye-mask on and the sound of you flipping pages became Baran’s own white noise machine.

Last Christmas she offered to buy you a kindle, showed you some DIY cover designs she stumbled across on Instagram, figuring you could get access to more books quickly and they were running a sale but you cancelled that thought quickly. Appreciating the consideration but you stated that you preferred physical copies whenever you did get around to reading…yet Baran wasn’t sure if that was a hundred percent true since you gossiped about some Bridgerton? Baran believed it was—fanfiction with Javadi at a gala you attended with her once.

Neither here nor there, Baran respected your wishes.

The brunette stays seated on the white sheet, cross-legged since Baran deeply believes in waiting thirty minutes exactly after you’ve eaten before laying down—although your bare shoulder looks quite comfy as the sun shifts to a late orange afternoon.

You’re silently aware that’s what she’s doing, even if it wasn’t a full meal, it almost felt too draining in the august heat to indulge in the ciabatta sandwiches, she moves her gaze from you, the blue raspberry inspired house behind you both, to the lake again until she’s pulling out her wired headphones to slip one into her left ear.

When thirty minutes are up, your eyes are low-lidded behind Baran’s thin black shades, fighting to stay awake since there’s still so much to the day, and the mango sun burns above as she finally moves to lay beside you. You can briefly pick up on some poppy tune as Baran rests close by: something bright, punchy, electronic—80s style plays on.

Baran rolls to hold a kiss into your neck then your jaw, your mind no longer comprehends the words your eyes have began to lazily trail over, you’ve secretly tapped out about twenty minutes in—surprisingly but with her lips against your skin, still sticky (despite the wipes she used) pit filled fingertips gripping your wrist, you turn your attention to press your own lips against her warm forehead.

Her hair smells of saffron and roses.

You close the book with a soft plop.

Her hands tug at your wrists.

You allow yourself to fully face her, but Baran’s eyes remain closed.

A smile is on her lips, one of her fingers reaches up to press against your mouth.

Her touch is grounding.

Telling you to just be here, no further words need to be shared.

You peck her finger while you’re both facing each other.

There’s faint crinkles by the corners of her closed eyes.

Doing the honors, you entangle your ankles together, the material of your anklet will soon embed into Baran’s skin.

She doesn’t mind.

Being tangled in you is the best part of any day.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎.