A.M.

“Well, we were all hoping for some hot water.” Her voice fell with noticeable disappointment as she returned from the bathroom. “It’s always something in this city? Ain’t it? Damn plumbing.”

She stomped off without missing a beat. “I’ll make breakfast in a few, just let me get a cup of coffee going.” I watched as she scurried off to the kitchen. The sound of pots and pans banging around, cabinet doors opening and shutting, amid frustrated sighs caught my ear’s attention.

I couldn’t help but lay in bed. My mind was flooded with thoughts. Thoughts on my future, our future, and whether I was nothing but a disappointment that she couldn’t bear to cut ties to, just yet. Staring at the plain eggshell paint that covered the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan slowly, lulled me into a stupor.

It was a state of mind that I didn’t want to leave, as it was strangely calming, but not productive. The aroma of instant coffee wafting about the apartment shook me out of my head, and I returned back to reality. It was time to get up, I guess.

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stretched my limbs with a yawn, and headed into the kitchen. She was already busy scrambling eggs, in that English-looking ceramic bowl we picked up from the thrift store. Cracked eggshells were littered about the counter.

“I’ll make some toast,” I said as I pulled out some English muffins, and popped them into the toaster. Rummaging through the fridge, I noticed there was only a little bit of butter left, and half a jar of apricot marmalade. “What’ll it be, butter or marmalade?” Hoping that she would let me have the pat of butter.

“I’ll just take my toast dry.” she replied evenly, as she dumped the swirl of eggs into the skillet. I didn’t know how she never managed to burn anything, ever. It was magic watching her cook. I stared transfixed, allowing myself to get lost.

“Hey, the toast is burning!” she exclaimed as she looked over her shoulder, noticing the beginning of a plume of smoke rising toward the ceiling.

“Oh crap!” I hurried over and popped the muffins out of the toaster, and braced myself to see what I could salvage. “I’ll take the more burned one.” seeking to remedy my error.

“Ok, no problem.” she said without missing a beat, as she scooped out the eggs onto two plates. “Salt and pepper?” she asked.

“You bet.” I replied with a smile. I was happy she wasn’t too upset.

We sat down at the small 3-legged table that we rescued from curb. I playfully began picking at a chip on my right side. “Remember when we found this?” I asked, hoping to start a conversation.

She sipped her coffee with a matter-of-fact look in her eyes. She looked up at me smiling, “Yes, I do.”

Today was going to be a good morning.

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Published by

gritnvinegar

Grit N Vinegar is the home of emerging writer, Alex Smith. Focusing on short stories, flash fiction, and poetry, Alex has been published in Sick Lit Magazine and often seeks out new places to submit her writing. Find me @gritNvinegar on Twitter!

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