Page 31 of Thankful
I shrug. “Nothing. You know how sometimes you just can’t find the right position?”
“Oh, tell me about it. And it doesn’t help that your father snores. Sounds like a chainsaw on the fritz.”
Cyn laughs as she takes a cup out of the cupboard. And it’s not just any cup – it’s my favorite coffee mug.
“Cyn, Brix doesn’t snore, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t. Brix usually sleeps like those people on them mattress commercials—so undisturbed and unbothered, though he works so many hours, I’m surprised he doesn’t snore.”
Cyn puts one tablespoon of Stevia in my coffee, as well as a little heavy whipping cream. After adding a dash of cinnamon, she stirs it. It’s the way I always take my coffee. The way only she knows how to make it – well, her and the workers at The Roasted Bean.
I walk over to her, close my arms around her from behind just to see how she’ll react. Actually, I know how she will react. She’s in pretend mode now. I take advantage. I squeeze and caress her like it’s the first time I’ve done it. Then I press my lips to her neck and say, “Thank you for making my coffee.”
“You’re welcome.”
I release her. She turns around and smiles. I cup her chin with my index finger and thumb, bend down and kiss her lips tenderly. I was expecting that she’d cut it short, but she goes with it, indulges me and deepens the kiss while caressing the nape of my neck.
My mother clears her throat.
I pull back, lock eyes with Cyn, trying to see something in them – trying to determine if the kiss was a part of the act, or if this was real. I can’t decipher it. I just know I enjoyed it, even if it wasn’t real.
I pick up the coffee, take a sip, and say, “Man, that’s good.”
“Of course it is! Cyn knows how you like it, ain’t that right, daughter-in-law?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’d think he’d know that by now, huh?”
Mom takes a sip and asks, “Cyn, are we going Black Friday shopping tomorrow?”
She says, “Yeah, I suppose. I don’t necessarily need anything—”
“That’s the beauty of Black Friday shopping, dear. You don’t have to need things. Things need you. They jump out at you and say,buy me.”
I grin at her logic. “Cyn doesn’t do that much shopping, Ma.”
“I know that,” she says.
Cyn says, “The last time I bought anything substantial was earlier this year when I was decorating my apart—”
I clear my throat, then start coughing to make her stop.
“You alright, son?”
Still coughing, I reach for a napkin and say, “Yes. Coffee went down the wrong pipe.”
Cyn walks over and pats me on the back, then says, “We can go to the mall or something, Faith. I’m cool with that.”
Mom gets up and says, “Good. I’ll be ready. Right now, let me go see if this man is up yet. Keep that coffee hot, Cyn. I know he’s going to want some.”
“It’ll be here,” Cyn says.
When mom leaves the kitchen, I say, “Did you really almost say you were buying stuff for your apartment, Cyn?”
“My bad. I wasn’t thinking.”
“My mother would’ve lost it.”
“Well, I didn’t say it, so no harm, no foul. We can continue pretending until they leave, which is a bunch of nonsense in itself. I still think you should’ve told them. I told my parents.”
