everyone loves a sexy doctor...

I NEED INSPIRATION

Sat, 11 Jun 2005 05:27:15 GMT

HEY.

so yeah, about that fic...
i need something to go on. my ideas are sporadic and fragmented. i need HELP.

specifically:
LOCATIONS--hospital, apartment, jumbo mart, whatever
TIME--somewhere in the general ER arc
and
SCENARIO--what the hell should go on between these two (and don't say 'sex' because it's not helpful)

okay...
go.

orrrr... give me a title or something.
thanks guys.

--audrey

Thu, 02 Jun 2005 04:26:22 GMT

HEY GUYS.
wow it's been forever.
school, work...
wow.
but. ficcing. i miss it. i miss abby. i miss neela. i miss all of them.
so yeah.
i'll be back.
hope you all are well!
--audrey

Sun, 13 Mar 2005 17:06:41 GMT

Just some stuff I've been mulling over, presented to the public for yays, nays, bleahs, right ons and plotline/pairing theivery (not that i expect this to happen--i'm not that arrogant... yet)

FANDOM MENU:

PAIRING: Abby/Neela
ELEMENT: A tumultuous (sp?) relationship between the two. Might be just as good a read as something sweet and idyllic (god, i can't spell) and there is the argument that anger is sexy...
HOOK: Some sort of fight. Abby's got the power. Abby "wears the pants" (as i'm sure we all would suspect, had this been canon)

PAIRING: Female ER Staff/Jackie from Roseanne
ELEMENT: No idea. Something i thought up on the plane, 30,000 feet above the ground, terrified, watching reruns on Jetblue cable tv. Jackie is so damn funny and someone on that ER staff would love her, I just know. I doubt I could pull off her character though... Would take some TV-watching research.

PAIRING: Female ER Staff/Olivia Benson
ELEMENT: Hotness.
HOOK: Who cares? Hotness!

PAIRING: Lustful Jerry
ELEMENT: Jerry's got a crush! I love this guy to death and wizened_cynic just gave me a JerryChallenge, so maybe I'll figure something out...
HOOK: Jerry loses his touch, resulting in ER mainframe chaos and a lot of 'splainin to do.

PAIRING: Abby/Chloe Lewis
ELEMENT: They're both recovering and have both struggled with it. Abby is a professional, Chloe is a lapsed bum trying to make it with a kid in tow. Both are feisty. Could work.
HOOK: Meet in ER. Chloe jibbers nervously. Abby is disturbed by her at first, then intreagued. They meet on the outside, Chloe is tough, cute, flirty, daring. Abby is courted.

PAIRING: Olivia Benson/Maureen Stabler (implied)
ELEMENT: I originally thought 'WTF, mate!" but was hooked when I read a piece someone recced a little while ago... kittenrecs maybe? Gah. I can't remember. Anyway, it was interesting, sweet, etc. Good dynamic potential.

Orright... Fire away!

Thu, 17 Feb 2005 19:37:39 GMT

In which Audrey is an idiot and falls madly and inexplicably in love with her Brit Cinema teacher and manages to act like a moron...

i don't know what happened.
i just... i... gah.

was walking home today and saw HER (prof alloy, the teacher) like RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, chatting with some man friend (damn him!). I waved to her and she smiled back and then i watched to see where they went so i could go THE OTHER WAY but they faked me out and went through the public garden just as i did... at least i was ahead of them. called my best friend to calm down. played the distillers as loud as i possibly could and walked fast... gah. i am such a dork. i think she saw the whole thing from afar and probably thinks i'm some shady drug dealer or a crackpot or something.

oh well.

Mon, 14 Feb 2005 03:30:16 GMT

ugh, i should be posting fics.
instead, i'm slaving away for my stupid boss who likes to stiff me. today i hate her. she is just like everyone else. i wish she would just go away.

i feel like i'm going to cry.
this sucks.
bah.

fic me, someone.

because i am pimptastic

Sun, 13 Feb 2005 18:22:39 GMT

for those of you who might want to read some of my nonfandom stuff, take a gander at rabbitdontrun. it's dedicated to one story at present--ignore the userinfo, it's old.

hooray.

Sat, 12 Feb 2005 01:55:47 GMT

siighh... stuck at work with lots of fic-ish thoughts running through my head.

that moment of abby and neela walking down the hallway when abby was babbling on about jake...

crazy bedpan-ness.

listening to sahara hotnights, imagining neela pogoing along and abby walking in on her.

oh this is bad.

someone right me neela!punk fic, puhhleeze.

Fri, 11 Feb 2005 05:22:50 GMT

titles, round three.
c'mon guys, whaddaya, skeeeerd? ;)

--Dr. Bodily Harm
--The Bedpan is Not a Toy
--Hazing
--E=MC Scared
--What is Your Major Malfunction?
--Farting Dog
--There's No Such Thing as 'Bonkerser'
--Call Me Ishmael

ABBYNEELA IS BEING READONLY FOR SOME DAMN REASON SO...

Thu, 10 Feb 2005 01:35:50 GMT

The superintendant was a short, balding man with a bad leg and an unfortunate accent in that, for the life of her, Abby could not understand a single sentence he uttered.

"A mouse," she said, in painfully slow English, "in the kitchen. A dead one."

The little man peered at her.

"Mowwwwse," he said, "yez, mowwwse."

"In the kitchen."

"Kitch-en."

"Yes. Behind the stove. I... I can't remove--can't get... Behind the stove."

He nodded, chewing on a stubby fingernail.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," he sang to himself, "I help."

Abby threw up her hands as the strange man tottered towards the counter, stooping on arthritic knees to get at the stove. She watched as he opened the oven, sticking his entire head in like the wicked witch in the gingerbread house.

Beside her, Neela mumbled something to herself, ticking off congugations on her fingers. Abby watched as she stumbled over her tenses in what sounded like Italian and wondered when the young woman would run out of languages to try. It amazed her, the font of knowledge that sprung forth from her friend, though Neela, with her mulit-linquistic skills, had gotten about as far in conversation with the super as Abby had, trying first French and then a few impossibly broken words in German.

Apparently, as the superintentant stumped his way to the bathroom, suspicious-looking plastic bag in hand, it had all been to no avail.

"I haff get heem," he said triumphantly, moving with astonishing speed for such a gimpy fellow, holding the bag aloft, "I haff get heem."

"Where are you going?" Abby yelled after him as he shut the bathroom door, grinning a crack-toothed grin at her before it slammed closed, "what--"

She was cut off by the sound of the toilet, and an ominous silence descended upon the apartment.

The super emerged, hands empty.

"I flash heeem!" he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear, "gone, gone, gone."

The two women exchanged a look and two sets of eyes, one dark and one light, locked onto the toilet bowl, visible from behind the elated superintendant. They watched in horror as a torrent of water spilled over the edge with a horrendous, almost prehistoric-sounding belch.

"Son of a bitch," Abby murmured, shaking her head in awe, "son of a bitch."

* * *

Neela looked serious in her mask and gloves, goggles cupping her eyebrows.

"Give me the tongs," she said flatly.

"Someone liked their surgical rotation," Abby joked.

They were crouched by the toilet like a prayer group, array of hodgepodge tools heaped on the floor beside them.

"The tongs please," Neela repeated, holding out her hand.

"Are you sure about this?"

"You'd rather I use the spatula?"

Abby considered.

"Yeah, you're right," she said, handing over the metal pincers, "at least I can autoclave these."

Neela narrowed her eyes, plunging her tonged hand into the water. She scrabbled around, inching closer and closer to the bowl, grunting with the effort.

"Can you feel anything?" Abby asked.

"Almost."

Her arm dissapeared further into the watery depths.

"How about the whisk?" Abby asked, "or maybe this fondue fork?"

She was met with silence.

"Or the tea strainer," she continued, "that might be good."

"Abby?"

"...Yes..."

"I'm... I think I'm stuck."

"What?"

"My arm. It's... It's stuck."

Abby was on her feet in a flash.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Neela tugged, pulling backwards.

"Just... Relax your muscles," Abby coached, "ease it out..."

Neela pulled harder. Nothing. She was beginning to sweat, eyes wild.

"Get me out of here!" she screamed, "please, just get me out!"

Abby's hand went into the water, closing over Neela's forearm.

"Calm down," she said softly, mouth close to Neela's ear," just... Re-lax and..."
She inched her fingers towards Neela's wrist and gave a gentle tug.

The arm came forward, Neela with it, and they fell slightly backwards, Neela half in Abby's lap. They stayed like that a moment, Abby's wet hand just above Neela's stomach, as though frozen.

Before either of them could speak, the toilet, of it's own accord, gave a terrifying 'glurp.' The sound of sucking water filled the room, and the two women collapsed into nervous laughter, slumping against one another.

"It's night of the living toilets," Abby said, between gasps, "night of the living goddamn toilets."

Neela nodded in answer, the sensation of Abby's palm against her bellybutton making her slightly lightheaded, for reasons she couldn't quite explain.

"It sure is," she said, and, daring herself, leaned back ever so slightly more, "it sure is."

Mon, 31 Jan 2005 06:33:12 GMT

in which Audrey becomes the youngest line editor in America, goes away on business up river and catches a chest cold.

still sick.
someone, someone, anyone...
fic me!...?
i'm so so very ill...

Sun, 30 Jan 2005 02:36:35 GMT

FIC COMING SOON.
promise.

ugh.
just got back from a two-day meeting session up at the boss-lady's house. great, intense, but tiring and i'm sick. so yeah.

Thu, 27 Jan 2005 05:17:13 GMT

ugh. i've got this sinking feeling.
blah.

but i've got fic.

Daniel Wyzenski had been no one. An anonymous man in an anonymous suit, carrying an anonymous briefcase out to the anonymous car. How he had met--or fallen in love with, for that matter--Margaret Enders was beyond the scope of Abby's imagination. She'd long since stopped entertaining her romantic Americana fantasies of her father, inexplicably dressed in the green drabs of a soldier, eyes shining in a smoky jazz cafe as the young vixen Maggie seduced him smartly and quickly. That was a daydream that had been bolstered by a lifetime of Archie comics, of bad movies on late-night television, of the stories of her friends' parents, of Eric in his service pictures.

As an adult--and one who had grown to know the ins and outs of love and all its business--Abby had made her concessions, setting aside the dreamy notions for something more concrete. How Dan, mumbling son of mumbling Polish parents, with his lousy haircut and plain but good-looking face, could have easily been carried away by her. Maggie, bright and boyant, against his calm, his practicality. Abby could almost see how it had played out, how he'd mistaken madness for spark, how she'd lit him up from the inside, transporting him out of himself. She almost felt bad, how she'd fallen prey to the same trick. She had never blamed him for leaving... Only for not taking her with him.

It made perfect sense to her that he would have stuck close to home. Thief River wasn't terribly far from Anoka, just I94 to route 59 all the way up, almost to Manitoba, and she estimated it was about four or five hours north. Dan had been a salesman, the expendible kind, the sort that could float in and out from job to job, never fearing the great layoff rumors buzzing around the office. Abby figured he wasn't afraid of losing his job so much as having to keep it. His quiet manner, she now knew, was only a mask for his insatiable, chronic boredom.

Watching a group of teenaged girls lingering in chairs, Abby broke her thoughts from Dan, turning them to the mysterious soccer player. She couldn't picture her, couldn't feel this strange sister the way she could feel Eric, like a weird bit of sonar--though, she admitted to herself, she'd lost some of it in the past few years. It had been helpful, this sense, was how she'd scooped him up from under tables and thrust her way into fights to get to him... Knowing he was there.

"Hey."

It was Neela, tugging her sleeve.

"Yeah?"

Neela frowned at her.

"You're not ready," she said.

"Ready?"

"To leave. We're off shift. I brought your coat."

Neela extended the jacket to her, watching as she took it, putting it on slowly. They stepped out into the snowy ambulance bay together.

"So I was in the shops yesterday," Neela was saying, "and I saw these boots and they were hairy. Like... black yeti feet or something and I thought, who would buy these and--"

It was then that Abby held up her hand.

"Neela," she said, stopping so short the other woman nearly clean fell over her, "Neela, do... Do we have to... Do we have to talk right now? Can't we just... Walk?"

Neela looked as though she'd been slapped, then cast her eyes immediately towards the ground.

"Sure," she muttered, "yeah... I mean... That's fine."

They walked a few paces without speaking, slushy snow crunching under their feet. After a time, Abby sighed.

"That was rude," she said, "I'm sorry."

Neela said nothing, watching her feet.

"Yeah," she said softly, "it was."

Thu, 27 Jan 2005 00:09:19 GMT

saw 'my beautiful laundrette' today in class. was struck by rita wolf, who played young pakistani woman living in london with her family. what a gorgeous, gorgeous woman, looking a bit like dear neela (seems to be a resemblance only in this movie, however) if i daresay so myself. a trip to IMDB later and it turns out wolf's indian AND in "second generation" with our own miss nagra!

see? just a little...

and oh yeah, cos i'm skilled like that...

Wed, 26 Jan 2005 07:23:16 GMT

... wrote the first two parts.
man i really should have this dedication to schoolwork/my book but... but fic is just so damn FUN.

The envelope was yellow, a deep, creamy color, addressed in purple pen. Several angry red ink stamps were slapped across it; address not known, forward pending. No such name, yet somehow, it had found its way to her, bouncing from Maggie's old place to Richard's to the two-flight Chicago walk up. A small sticker in the left-hand corner, bearing the Amnesty International symbol, read 'Christina M. Turnbull, 24 Jefferson Road West, Anoka MN... Christie Turnbull, her old algebra partner from high school, Abby realized with a jolt. She sat down heavily on her bed. The last time she and Christie had had lunch, she hadn't yet married Richard, which accounted for the mistake in name. Shaking her head, she remembered the wild-haired, eye-linered girl who was the first in their class to put purposeful runs in her stockings. They'd been the eighties queen bad girls of Anoka Ridge, spinning around deliciously in Christie's brothers' red Camaro, hiding vodka in their backpacks and sipping it like water all day. Only Christie hadn't carried it with her past college, Abby thought with a grimace, remembering those days with such a sudden vividness that she could almost taste their home-made screwdrivers, mixed hurriedly in the bathroom with Tang and stolen Smirnoff.

Finally, she ripped open the envelope, pulling out a single sheet of the same color.
'Dear Abby,' it read, 'and how fun it is to write that to you; dear Abby. But I'm sure I've said that before, back in the days when I used to write actual letters rather than the slobby emails I'm accustomed to. Anyway, I'm sure you're wondering what in God's name I'm doing since we haven't spoken in what feels like an eon, so I'll spare you the anticipation. No, I'm not getting married again, just to get that out of the way--though I've heard rumors that you are.... Are you? Oh, there I go again, digression, digression. So, as you may not know, I've been teaching for some time now and have been at Forest Lake Cathedral for two years now--yes, our bitter rival, I know--and recently ran into a young girl from up near Thief River at a soccer game. Her name, surprisingly, was also Wyzenski--it said so right on her jersey, just like it did on yours--and she made me think of you. I meant to ask if she was any relation but there simply wasn't time; my Jenna was anxious to get back for her precious television show--sound familiar? Oh, you'd like Jenna. She's quite a little soccer player herself! You should see her... If only we'd stuck with it like the kids nowadays are doing. It's such a treat to watch.
So that's what's new up here! Just me, turning into an old lady, watching my daughter surpass me in every way possible. It's humbling but at the same time I'm proud. You should come visit us sometime--or I'll come to you. Give a buzz if you get a chance--the number is, miraculously, still the same. All my best, Christie.'

Abby put the letter down, unsure of what to think. She picked it up, read it again, folded it, let it sit against the pillow. Unfolded it, read without seeing, then folded it up again. Christie Turnbull. The strange soccer-playing Wyzenski girl. It was too much for her to take in, and she let herself fall into the pillows, closed envelope on her chest.

"Want some?"

Neela stood in the doorway, holding two cups of something red. Abby waved her off as politely as she could.

"Nah," she said, yawning, "too tired."

!FIC!

Wed, 26 Jan 2005 07:22:04 GMT

so i'm giving it a shot.
fuck i should be working on the novel.
fuck it's 2:21 in the morning.
fuck i still have laundry drying.
fuck.

... so here it is. give me props for minnesota research! whoo!

There was a foot of snow on the ground in Chicago, a foot more than Abby would have liked. Jerry's "official" weather report had indicated blizzard conditions and, if the drifts and gullies that were lodged in every nook and cranny didn't fit the description, Abby didn't know what did. If it had just stayed a dusting it wouldn't have bothered her, but twelve inches was enough to soak her scrubs at least to her ankles.

Walking home from the El, funny Russian hat pulling down over her ears, she wondered exactly how long it would be until the spring thaw. For an ER nurse--and now an ER doctor--the seasons passed through a series of senses, as the week that became two weeks became two months became a year as though the clock never stopped. And inconveniences, inconveniences served as a timeline. Fall meant 14-hour days; winter was cars that don't start and trains that don't come; spring brought on an onslaught of ridiculous lovers and in summer, the air conditioning at County was destined to fail on the hottest day of the year.

Abby knocked the snow off her boots, trudging up the flight of stairs to the apartment. By the door, she spied Neela's modest little puddle-jumpers... What did she call them? Wellies. Abby smiled at the word, an English word, a Neela word, and shucked her huge duck-hunters beside them. Soft music came from behind the door, something with a strong bassline, and her smile lingered. Neela had obviously taken her 'no punk in the evening after shift' request to heart.

Neela herself was standing in the kitchen, humming a bit tunelessly over a pot of what looked like pasta sauce. Abby shook her head, hanging up her coat, brushing the snow off and onto the floor. Trust Neela, the just-post-college student to think of heating up the ages-old Ragu for dinner instead of the chicken breast sitting right there in the fridge.

"Did you get the mail?" she asked, watching as Neela frowned into her concoction.

"Yeah," she replied, turning suddenly, stirring spoon in hand, "and you know what's funny? The woman who lived here before, she was called Abby too. Did you know that?"

Abby put down her bag.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked.

Forgetting her food momentarily, Neela stepped away from the stove, reaching for a letter she'd set aside from the others at the end of the counter.

"Yeah," she said, brandishing the envelope, "she was Abigail... Wiz... Wise..."

"Wyzenski."

Neela's expression shifted to one of surprise.

"How'd you know?" she asked.

"Because that's me."

Wed, 26 Jan 2005 00:45:57 GMT

... just saw the newsradio episode where maura tierney takes off her shirt and stalks through the office... and nearly fell into the computer screen. literally. seriously.

oh, and on a ER fic-ish note, i've got something i want to run by you all. i've had this idea for a while but because of its inherent lameness, i've been hesitant about busting it out. a while back, i read somewhere that there was a bit of speculation over a possible Wyzenski sister--something to do with a guest character by that name. this got me thinking: since Abby's dad skipped out, it's entirely possible that he's got another kid--or two, or three--running around, which could make for an interesting story. but no, i thought to myself, that is too, too too stupid; the long-lost family thing is way played out and usually done in a highly unrealistic manner... only thing is, it really does happen. it happened to a buddy of mine--he met his half-brother and they became good friends and it was quite the dinner table conversation for a while.

so, my question: DO I DO IT?

yes? no?
thoughts please!

stupid stupid life

Mon, 24 Jan 2005 16:29:10 GMT

in which Audrey loses all of her friends due to her own failings and thus complains about it. on the ficjournal. but whatever.

um... crap.

excerpts from my life

Mon, 24 Jan 2005 04:00:50 GMT

DEAR EVERYONE (who will not see this note because they do not read this livejournal),

Please, in future, refrain from throwing oversized inflatable amphibians into my room at four thirty in the morning when I am, in fact, asleep. In addition, it would be greatly appreciated if you could suspend all hang-up calls before the hours of twelve o'clock noon. It would also be extremely helpful if you would keep all residual pissyness when said reptile is not returned to you in the timely manner you so desire to yourselves.

Let it be hereby known that I will be closing and locking my door to the general public between midnight and whenever it is that I decide--on my own terms--that I will be waking up.

Yours sincerely,

Audrey Cohen

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

just had to get that out.
anyone wanna cheer me up with fic?

Sun, 23 Jan 2005 05:58:03 GMT

oh man.
i'm listening to my english music again.

i think if neela sang, she'd sing like bill jones--only the accents don't quite match. bill's is a bit rougher, while neela's is smooth and refined. nagra had to slide it down a notch, i think, for BiLB.

everyone rush out and download bill jones' verison of "Lovers Ghost." it's off her Two Years Winter album. oh, i love her so.

haha, i think abby would sing like the donnas... does m. tierney sing? i've often wondered this.

fuck fuckity fuck

Sat, 22 Jan 2005 04:06:00 GMT

buggerbuggerbuggerbuggerbugger!

I AM AN IDIOT!

i just wrote this entire abby/neela thing for kennedyismyhero and was so close to being done when i thought 'hell, i'd better copy/paste this thing into Word and save it" and... instead of hitting control-A i hit... CONTROL Q.

THE ENTIRE THING IS GONE.

FUCK ASS BOLLOCKS.

i really think i am going to cry. really really really really. this sucks tons and tons and i have to do it all over again. FUCK.

the end.

THANK GOD, new ER

Fri, 14 Jan 2005 04:02:30 GMT

jeezus shit.
crazy episode.
i smell fic... indeed indeed i do.

Sixteen

Sun, 09 Jan 2005 01:25:16 GMT

Abby closed her eyes a moment.

Maggie.

Did she want to talk about Maggie? Usually she could do it at the drop of a hat, shove herself way into the back of her mind and just dispatch with the story, let it all go without letting it get to her. Healthy, maybe not. Functional, definately.

But did she want to tell this girl--this woman, this girl, this somewhereinbetween--with the concerned father and sweetfaced mother about sleepless nights and getting chased around the dining table with a knife? About little Eric and his favorite Minnesota Twins sweatshirt and sneaking nips from the scotch bottle under the sink at fourteen and driving them both to school with Kurt Cobain blaring on the tape deck... Already jaded and sore and mean.

And, as always, what would that say about her?

What was the worst Neela could have done? A two-day bender after a hard rock concert?

Maggie. Fucking Maggie.

Always there to haunt her, in one way or another.

Abby leaned into the couch, feeling the armrest fit perfectly under her neck. Keeping her eyes closed, the images stayed in her head, hovering just above her nose.

Wanting to get it out as fast as she could.

"My mother is insane," she said flatly, "my mother is insane and my father... could be halfway to tahiti for all I know and... My brother, my brother was my best friend until he... Took off in this little plane he bougth for reasons that are still beyond me and scared us all shitless... So he finally turns up and he's not making any sense and hey, seems like he's bi-polar too."

She let her hands fall to her sides.

"And that's it in a nutshell."

Her voice cracked without meaning to, like a thirteen year old boys. For some reason, it embarrassed her more than it should have. She felt her cheeks heat up.

Neela shifted beside her.

"Wow," she said, "that's... Intense."

"Yeah," Abby replied, numb, worn out, "yeah."

Fri, 07 Jan 2005 00:22:02 GMT

updates soon.
promise.
juices are flowing, albeit slowly.
--audrey

Wed, 05 Jan 2005 05:19:44 GMT

::FREAKOUT::
ugh. just...
i'm not feeling up to snuff, people. perhaps my lonnnnngfic days are over... sigh. i just feel like everything i'm writing for this story just sucks, like... like it doesn't have the energy it used to. i guess it's cos i'm more of a 'moment' kind of writer, in this respect--once someting plateaus it just gets... tired.

will perhaps try again later?
forgive me, folks.

:::END FREAKOUT::

Fifteen

Tue, 04 Jan 2005 06:28:05 GMT

She was still thinking.

So many things to say, so many memories to gather up, all distilled down into something so small. Like that stuff they'd installed in the hospital vending machine... These little pellets that looked like the no-name expectorant softgels the hospital stocked but, amazingly, tasted for all the world like ice cream. What were they called? Dipping dots? Something horrid and American like that.

There were tastes and smells and times and places and people and... everything. Neela wished for all the world that she could Dipping-dot it all for Abby, pass it to her in a convenient nugget, rather than try to explain it. Even the anger, the sadness, the strange and irrepressable rage she had been feeling towards them lately, holding their power over her even from so many miles away.

Abby was watching her, blinking expectantly. Neela got lost in her lashes for a moment, watching them open, close, open, close. Shaking out of it, she curled her knees up under her.

"They're... I don't know... They're..."

"Are there a lot of you?"

"Yeah..." Neela smiled, thinking of all of them, "there's... Well, there's mum and dad, of course. They're... Normal, I suppose. A little uptight, but that's standard fare for parents. Loving, supporitve--when it fits their ideals, of course--but overbearing, overprotective... Over... Overcompensating, but not... I mean, it's not too too too bad... They're probably more strict than American parents but.. I'm used to it, I suppose."

Abby gave a sarcastic snort. Neela glared at her darkly.

"Sorry," said Abby, hiding her mouth with her hand, "I'm sorry."

Neela loosened her glower, continuing.

"There's my uncle Raj--there's always an uncle Raj--and my aunt Savasti... Uncle Raj is a riot. He's in America so he's picked up all their slang. It's not uncommon for him to call us all his 'homies' or talk about our lack of 'hip-hop' knowledge... and Savasti is absolutely gorgeous, I mean she could have been a model if she'd wanted to, I'm sure. They have a son, his name is Michael--"

"Michael? Abby cut in.

"Yeah. Indian people can have Anglo names too, you know."

Abby rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know," she said, swatting Neela on the thigh, "I was just... Surprised."

Neela folded her hands in her lap.

"God, there are tons and tons more," she said, eyes scanning the ceiling, "I can barely count them all."

She tried, listing them off in her head, regurgitating them to Abby.

"Shiney, Shalu; Arun; Priya; Nigel, his wife, his ex-wife, his ex-wife's husband; Shiv; Ona; Collen, Colleen's kids Brian and Melissa, Melissa's two kids--"

"Wow," Abby cut in, "that is... They must be hell at weddings."

Neela grinned.

"Oh you can't even imagine."

They were silent a moment.

"What about your family," Neela asked quietly, "you... You never talk about them."

Abby looked away, eyes suddenly everywhere but on Neela.

"They're... Complicated," she said slowly.

Neela furrowed her eyebrows, trying to conjure them up. She couldn't picture parents, as though Abby had landed on earth all her own, thirty-five (or was it thirty-eight?) from the get-go.

"Do you not want to talk about it?"

"No, no, I'll... I'll talk about it, I... I should just warn you it's... Just... Don't feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you."

Abby gave one of her wry smiles, more like a twist of her lip than anything else.

"You might after this. Most people do."

"What do you mean?"

"They just... They give me this look like, like... Like "oh you poor thing." It's... Obnoxious."

Neela leaned forward, bridging the gap between Abby and herself. She could see the small birthmark next to her ear, the elegant little crows feet working their way into the sides of her eyes.

"I won't," she said, "I won't, I promise."

Abby sighed.

"It's just such a mess," she said, hanging her head, "it's just... A mess. Be prepared."