A burst of laughter jolted me awake.
I grabbed my phone. 7:30 AM. My head was throbbing from the lack of sleep. I reached blindly into my nightstand drawer for my headache pills.
Empty.
I had reminded James at least five times to pick some up, and he still forgot.
It took a while for the dizziness to fade enough for me to get out of bed. I opened the door and saw James making breakfast in the kitchen, with Chloe happily playing sous-chef beside him.
“Pour Emily some coffee,” James told her.
Chloe breezed over to the cabinets and seamlessly picked out my specific mug from a dozen others. She poured the water and handed it to me.
“How do you know which one is mine?” I asked.
She skipped back to the cabinets, digging around. “Because I’m here all the time! Whenever you go on business trips, I come over to hang out with James.”
She pulled James’s mug down next. Then she stood on her tiptoes, looking confused. “James, where did you put my cup?”
James pointed at the dishwasher with his spatula. “In there. I told you, stop tossing it in the sink when you’re done. You have to wash it and let it dry before putting it back. Otherwise I have to sterilize it for you every single time.”
Chloe grabbed her ridiculous cartoon mug, shimmied over to James, and affectionately rubbed her cheek against his arm like a cat. “But I’m lazy! That’s why I leave it all to you.”
James raised the spatula, pretending he was going to bop her on the head. “You’re going to die of laziness one day!”
They were so naturally intimate it was as if they were the married couple.
I stood there, holding my mug, feeling the warmth of the water slowly seep out through the ceramic until it was ice cold.
I had never seen James like this. When it was just the two of us, he barely spoke. At dinner, I would scroll through my phone while he read the news. Then we’d go to work. Routine. Lifeless.
“Do you want your eggs fried or boiled?” James asked me, carrying a small skillet out of the kitchen.
Chloe plopped down into the chair next to me and shot her hand into the air. “Chef James! I want both! You know I love eggs!”
James chuckled, sliding the food into her designated bowl. Then he looked at me—the woman who had spoken exactly one sentence all morning.
“And you?”
I pressed my lips together, my fingertips absentmindedly tracing the faint red patches on my arm. It had only been two weeks since my last severe allergic reaction.
“I’m allergic to eggs. Did you forget?”
