I come to sit in the creme-colored wingback chair–the one Jon doesn’t like. Coffee mug in hand, I prop my feet on the old oak chest which belonged to my great aunt, Lucille. It’s hard on my heels and I grab a pillow off the sofa to tuck under them.
I sit still and listen.
It’s still dark outside. I heard an alarm go off down the hallway when I first entered the kitchen, so I know someone’s stirring, but I’m not at great risk of being interrupted. Not yet anyway. The pipes begin to creak as the water heats up and, although she’s the first up, she’ll also be the last to surface.
I didn’t make it up as early as I sometimes do–having slept good and hard following several nights in a hotel bed with a girl who’s all knees and elbows–but early enough to snatch a few minutes alone I hope. Read more →