She is lying in bed, humming something to herself. I am in the kitchen, cooking hashbrowns. Again. Third time this week. She shouts down the hall to remind me to put cheese in
like I would forget. It's amazing she will let me cook for her. It's also somewhat odd she is lounging about the flat in an old sweatshirt-she should be at work, but she called in sick, which is not like her at all.
I look for an old cup to dump the grease in and I notice the old coffee can on the second shelf. The one she wrote a big G on with a magic marker. She told me she was going to put it up there "for a while" but shrugged her shoulders at the same time- "you never now when I might need it again, but not right now" She hugged me while she did this. This silly and profound gesture; agreeing to be foolish and it is so out of character for her. She tells me it used to feel odd to have so much fun, to enjoy every late afternoon (napping with no agenda), every shot of Tequila and every spray can of whipped cream (right in the mouth). Emphasis on the words "used to" Not anymore she says.
She pads down the hall in dirty slouch socks (hers) and an oxford dress shirt (mine).
"We aren't going anywhere today are we?" I just smile and slide a plate across the counter.