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When my alarm goes off at 6am, I’m rolling out of bed with more energy than I can remember having in a while. I might be on east coast time, but I should be jet-lagged, especially considering the fact that I didn’t knock off until after midnight.
I grab a quick shower, dress in some loose basketball shorts and an athletic tee, and then head down into the kitchen to snoop through what’s available for me to make for Ruby after we yoga. Hopefully, mom stocked up and I won’t need to make a trip to the store this early, but if I need to go, I will.
“Morning, baby.”
The sound of my mother’s warm voice both startles and soothes me, though I should have known she’d already be up and on her second cup of coffee.
I definitely got my early-riser tendencies from her, and it was both a blessing and a curse. I got time with her all to myself growing up, time I still get with her even now as an adult.
But it also meant I never got that morning time all to myself, and as a self-proclaimed introvert, having alone time in the morning is as essential to me as breathing.
Back home, I wake up every morning by 5am, usually heading to the gym nearby to get in laps at the pool, though I’ve recently been getting into running as well. I eat breakfast once I’m home and showered, and then I spend some time reading or listening to NPR while I do some kind of housework, like dishes or laundry.
This morning, though, seeing my mother for the first time in months, I let go of my desire to be by myself and try to revel in the joy of being with my favorite woman on the planet.
“Hey, mom.” I wrap my arms around her and give her a tight squeeze, letting her give me a kiss on the cheek before backing away to head over to the coffee maker.
“I thought I’d get to see you last night, but when I got home from the Perrys’, you three were still out.” She takes a sip of her coffee then sets it back down, both of her hands wrapped around the mug. “You were with the twins?”
I nod as I pull down my own mug—the blue one that says I don’t want to talk to you even after I drink this, which my sister Busy bought for me as a Christmas gift when I was in college. I purposefully left it here and make sure to drink out of it while I stare at her.
It always makes her laugh.
“We went to The Mitch,” I say, lifting the old-school coffee pot from the cradle and pouring myself a steaming cup almost to the top. “It was fun.”
“Heard you had a girl with you.”
My mug hovers in front of my mouth as I blow on the scorching hot liquid, realizing without any surprise that the Cedar Point tongues are already wagging.
I probably didn’t even need to keep Ruby’s stay at Ken’s to myself when I was talking with Carson. Surely mom has already heard about the pretty little brunette staying at the Bellows’ place. The blend of tourists starts to fade as summer comes to a close, making new faces easier to spot.
And a face like Ruby’s isn’t going unnoticed.
“Am I going to have a half-naked woman prancing through the house in one of your shirts in a little bit?” she asks.
I snort and finally take a sip of my drink. Then I set my coffee down and pin her with a glare that contains no heat.
“In what world have I ever done something like that?” I ask, feeling some righteous indignation at what she’s implying.
“Never, but big city life is very different than things are here.”
“Exactly.” I shake my head and cross my arms. “Even if that was something I was doing at home, there’s still a level of respect I have for my mother, okay?”
She nods and takes another sip of her drink, just watching me over the top of her mug.
“What brought that on?” I ask, knowing there has to be something more than what she’s saying.
“Oh, it’s just something stupid Margie said last night about her own damn son.” She waves a hand between us as if to brush it away. “I should know better than to lump you in with LP.”
I let out a laugh at the idea that mom could ever put me in the same boat as Linden Perry, Margie’s younger son who went to school with Busy and is all kinds of trouble. But I decide to just move on from it instead of wasting my mental energy.
Turning my attention back to the breakfast I’ll be making for Ruby, I open the fridge and begin to take mental notes of what we have, what we don’t, what I could make, and what I can’t make unless I decide I want to go to the store.
“So who was the girl?” I hear from behind me.
When I glance back, I find my mom with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
