TW: light smut and mild homophobia
July 7th, 1964
Christine woke up bright and early on the exhibition opening morning, having a shower and drying her hair quietly in the other room as Indigo slept in. She made breakfast and took it to her in bed, gently waking her with a kiss and a soft caress on her cheek.
"Hey," she smiled, "It's our big day."
"Uh, don't tease me like that," Indigo giggled, "I wish."
"One day, I promise," Christine sat down beside her, grabbing a slice of toast from the tray.
"We'll probably be old and grey before we can," she said bitterly, "But it'll be worth the wait."
"It will be," she said, "Now until then, you eat your breakfast and let me give your poor feet a massage, I know you'll be spending a lot of today standing."
"You're too good to me, breakfast and a massage? And it's not even my birthday?"
From across the exhibition room, Christine watched Indigo move around her section, trying to speak without stumbling over her words as people asked questions and complimented her. Her parents were busy looking at the small pieces of text alongside her own, and she hoped to find a way to sneak over to Indigo soon. They had a small break for lunch, and they spent it practically glued together, hidden away in a bathroom, so they could talk quietly out of the way of everyone. But in the afternoon, it got busier, and she noticed someone with a chequebook approaching Indigo and felt a huge, proud smile spread across her face. She didn't really care if any of her own work sold but knew how important it was to Indigo.
Christine stood at the kitchen counter, getting dinner ready, waiting for her father to return with some stuff from the grocery store. Indigo had stayed back at the exhibition, talking to some people interested in buying her work, promising to be home as soon as she could be. She put the pot on the stove and sat down.
"You've got a nice place," her mum sat down opposite her at the table, "But it's a bit small for two, isn't it? How do you cope?"
"Indigo takes the couch."
"Hmmm," she didn't look like she believed it for one second, "Really, Christine, what do you do?"
"I'm not lying, mum," she protested, and it was only half a lie- after all, Indigo did often fall asleep there, just not at night.
"Look, your father's out, you don't have to pretend, I know art school is more...liberal," she said, "Is she sleeping with you?"
Christine felt like a deer caught in the headlights as her mother stared at her. She opened her mouth, unsure how to respond.
"Just be careful, Christine, I'm not saying I don't support what you want to do...but these hippy sorts...these homosexuals..." she trailed off, "I don't know, darling, are you really one of them?"
She stood, defensive,
"Yes."
"If it makes you happy, I guess," she didn't look disappointed, or angry, just plain confused, "But you've dated boys, Christine, you loved them!"
"And I can love women too. And I'm not just sleeping with Indigo, we're in love, mother. And this is our home. Our safe place. If you don't like it, you don't have to stay."
She sighed,
"I'll stay. I'm sorry I overreacted, baby. You kids know better than us, and that's good. When I was brought up, we were told it was wrong. I'll learn better, and you'll help us. You do look in love."
"Just don't tell dad."
"I won't," she said, "I promise. Can I ask something else, Christine?"
"Depends."
"It's about Indigo, she's not- well, she's not all mentally there, is she? She's sick?"
Christine resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands in frustration,
"No mum, she has a chronic illness. It's called fibromyalgia and it puts her through a lot of pain, and she's tired a lot. And she doesn't like talking much."
"Why not?"
"She was abused, okay, that's why her parents aren't with her."
"Oh," she looked down, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, she isn't. It's just how her life is, okay. I just want her to be happy, and supported, and loved."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't really know what was going on, if you're happy, that's good enough for me."
But she still looked distinctly uncomfortable as they sat, waiting. The awkward silence couldn't be broken sooner as her father arrived, putting down a loaf of bread on the table and nudging her shoulder, pointing to a bag laden with groceries outside as they stood at the stove,
"Thank you for having us. I know money can be tight at college, so I got some things you needed."
"Thank you, daddy, I appreciate it."
Indigo was back late, after her parents had already headed back to the train station, and she was unpacking the bag her father had left, grateful for the help. She slumped down at the kitchen table, and Christine saw how spaced out her eyes looked.
"Are you okay, baby?"
"Too much to drink," she said, "I hate alcohol."
"Let me get you some water and dinner then. Why did you drink so much?"
"So, they wanted a load of my work and offered a lot, and people just kept giving me drinks. I don't know. I'm stupid."
"No, you're not, baby. One little mistake isn't a problem."
"I don't want to drink ever again, don't let me drink, Chris. Promise me?"
"I promise, baby," she said, "I'll be there to tip your drinks into drains, don't worry."
"You're the best!"
"Come on you, let's get you fed and to bed."
"They offered hundreds, Chris."
"Well done, I'm so proud of you, I really am," she smiled, "My talented baby."
"I can pay the rent this month."
"You won't," she said, "You're going to put it into savings, in case anything happens. We're making ends meet, don't worry."
"Okay, but I'm treating you to something. I don't know what yet, but I will."
"Okay," she laughed as Indigo's head tipped forwards, "No sleeping yet."
July 12th, 1964
"Happy Birthday, Chris," Indigo murmured, slipping under the covers until her head was buried between the other woman's thighs, "Happy Birthday."
"Oh baby, thank you," Christine cried out as she felt her tongue dancing over her folds.
A few minutes later, she screamed out as she came, sharing a passionate kiss with Indigo, until she spoke again,
"So, you know how I said I'm treating you? We're going out tonight, I bought you a dress, but I thought we could spend the day together first."
