Page 26 of The Things That Hold Us

Don't ask me why; but drinking coffee before bed has become a weird comfort thing of mine. Something about the smell so late at night just sets the tone for sleep.

“I see you took something else after me,” my mom says as she sits at my dining table.

“I don't understand why it's so relaxing.” I tell her, holding up my cup. “Want some?”

“As long as it’s not decaf.” she says.

‘Oh god no. That stuff is a disgrace to the coffee world.”

“Amen.”

I hand her a cup, and pour the warm liquid into it.

“There's cream and sugar, too, if you want some.”

She shakes her head, “No thank you. I’ve actually become fond of drinking it black. Not sure why.”

I giggle to myself, my mind once again on Logan.

I genuinely don't understand it. I’ve only met this guy a couple of times, yet here I am, constantly being reminded of him.

I still feel bad that I never replied to his text the other night. I didn't intentionally do it. I originally just wanted to think of how to reply, but then it went on for so long, I felt like it would be weird to reply so long after he sent it.

“Where'd you just go?” my mom says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about black coffee. I’ll never understand how anyone drinks that.”

She starts defending her black coffee drinking habits, naming off all of the reasons why she now prefers black coffee over coffee with creamer.

“Maybe one day my taste buds will mature, and I’ll be able to drink it. But for now, I’ll stick with my cream and sugar.”

She laughs, and we clink mugs.

Both of us finish our coffee, then head to bed.

I’m lying in my bed, scrolling on my phone, and guilt starts to tug at me the more I stare at my phone.

I pull up his number, which I didn't even save, and type up a text.

I read it once, twice, three times, then delete it.

Setting my phone down on my nightstand, I try my best not to think about texting him, and how horrible of a person it makes me to ignore him like this. Maybe I’ll end up running into him tomorrow, and I can lamely apologize in person.

I doze to the sound of rain hitting my window, and dream of black coffee and superman.

The next morning, I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs.

“Wow, home cooked breakfast? Is this going to be a normal thing, or are we taking turns?” I tease, and I hear my mothers laugh before I even make it to the kitchen.

“Probably not an everyday thing, but I do love cooking breakfast. It helps give a good start to my day. Sit, I made coffee too.”

“This all looks amazing. Thank you.” I tell her as I take a hefty bite of scrambled eggs.

“Oh my god these are amazing. Much better than I remember.” I tease.

“Funny.” she throws back. “I learned that if you put cream cheese in with the eggs while they cook, it makes them super creamy.”

“Why couldn't you have learned this when I was growing up?” I joke, and she throws a piece of bacon at me.

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