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My cell phone is still in the Tesla, so I don’t know what time it is. I hope it’s still early. I slide out of bed, pulling on my trousers so I can find the bathroom without waking her.
Taking a piss in the near-dark, I look around at all the artifacts of her life. The floral shower curtain. The old-fashioned tile floor. The pedestal sink. There are photographs on the wall of the staircase, dozens of them. So many faces. How many brothers and sisters did she tell me she has? Their faces are dim in the low light, but I can make out the emotions. This is a close family. Very close.
I’m delighted to find that there is a French press and coffee in the kitchen. Certainly I could go out and get us some, but making it here is faster and easier. In the refrigerator I find some berries and Greek yogurt and whip up a parfait with honey and granola before the water has finished boiling.
A startled gasp nearly makes me drop the half and half.
“Maxwell?” Landry exclaims.
I barely have time to answer her before I hear quick footsteps on the stairs like somebody is practically falling down them. Clarissa appears in the kitchen, her hair in a hasty topknot, her expression alarmed.
“Landry! You’re awake!”
Landry steps back and stares at me, then at Clarissa, a sly smirk twisting the unbruised corner of her mouth.
“You never wake up before nine,” Clarissa mutters as she marches across the kitchen, scowling. “Never, in the history of ever.”
It takes a good deal of effort not to smile at all this. They know each other so well, their bickering must feel like a choreographed dance. As an only child, I have to admit I am a little bit jealous.
It is another facet of Clarissa that is slowly being revealed, even as she tries to resist. I have to admit I enjoy watching her struggle to keep her pieces private, yet have them all exposed to me one by one. I get the feeling I am seeing something almost no one else ever has.
But then again, she is terrifically grumpy, and I would rather she were happy with me right now. I know that I am happy with her, after all.
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“That is the old me,” Landry grins. “I guess the new me gets up earlier. Is that yogurt?”
I slide the glass bowl across the counter toward her and she takes it with relish. Clarissa balances her fists on her hips and glares at me.
“You want some too?” I ask her gamely.
“Get your own, this is all mine.” Landry smiles and takes the bowl into the other room.
As soon as she is out of earshot, Clarissa whirls toward me, her eyes flashing.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I am making coffee,” I shrug. “Do you want to spill it on me or something?”
“I just might!” she declares.
Depressing the plunger, I look her over. Apparently she really is upset. That’s too bad. I guess morning sex is out of the question.
“You’re mad at me,” I observe, though I know it will antagonize her even more.
“I just don’t want to be parading… this… in front of everybody! Okay? I am a very private person!”
Maybe she needs coffee. Some people are different before they have had coffee. I pour out a cup and carefully push it toward her.
“Okay, I’m not trying to parade anything. Landry is just one person. And she doesn’t seem all that bothered.”
Pouting, Clarissa splashes a bit of half and half into the coffee cup and takes a sip. While she has her eyes down, I can’t resist. I lean forward and kiss the top of her forehead, inhaling the sweet, musky smell left over from last night.
With a start, she pulls back and stares up at me, a confusing array of expressions on her face.
“Why don’t we go visit Sunny?” I suggest gently.
“Today?” she coughs. “Already?”
