Sunday Morning Coffee Love

“Why the hell do people fall in love, anyway?”

“For the stuff. Love doubles your inventory.”

“I have too much stuff, I don’t need any more stuff . . .”

“Well then, you’re just a masochist.” He said.

They toasted to that, throwing their martini glasses to the cloudy haze of a rumbling crowd and twice baked rock that was humming along steadily on the other side of their table for two. It was sometime after midnight and they had no particular place to go, with the rest of the night posing a brilliant come on. They were holding court in a nook of a local watering hole; the tight quarters serving as a perfectly acceptable excuse for two friends to get closer.

It was here, tucked away inside a beautifully mysterious stretch of time where the raucous of Saturday night was slowly giving way to the peaceful easy of Sunday morning, where they began asking questions. He and she, respectively, silently. Beginning something out of the nothing of questions they had walked in with a couple hours earlier. Saturday night was getting them drunk, but Sunday morning was providing a reason to try on a different set of clothes. Inside this time, people could toast to all those things that were not worthy of a celebration on any other night of the week. And they could busy themselves with questions, like these.

“Another one?” She asked.

“I’m afraid not, two martinis is my limit. Unless you want me to start dancing on the tables.” He replied.

“That would be fine with me,” She said. “Besides . . . you’re not driving tonight.”

Her condo was right around the corner and the smile on her face let him know that breakfast was on the menu.

“What in the hell are we waiting for, woman?” He said, and they joined together in a laugh before finishing their drinks and taking off.

The walk was proper and respectful. No incidental contact to alleviate the flush of something new. Just two people, walking away the friendship and moving towards something else.

If not for the elevator, they would have made it inside her condo before losing all decorum. They quickly gathered themselves when the elevator door opened on five, as if high school kids being caught rounding second base by their parents. “I have a wee bit more Bombay left over, so you can make us a drink while I put on some tunes.” She said, as they trespassed into what tomorrow morning was gonna look like.

“Mama warned me about you Irish girls.” He said.

“Oh yeah, what’d she tell you?”

“Well, being an Irish girl herself . . she told me to run.”

And then they were tossing back lemon drops, provocatively. And then Bowie took to the walls. And then they lost themselves in a kiss that seemed to be holding on for Monday morning. And then they danced.

“Fucking stuff, huh?” She laughed.

This sure as hell didn’t feel like masochism, so yanno . . he had to agree.

 

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10 thoughts on “Sunday Morning Coffee Love

  1. I love this Cayman! May I?

    …but the lemondrops faded and the sun of Sunday finally rose, unwelcomed and glaring. Was the tread over the threshold of friends to lovers a mistake or was it a journey into something more meaningful than the comfort of a confidante? She moans and begins to awaken…slowly rolling over to face me, what will Sunday serve…regret and remorse or affirmation and adventure….

    • K- Muy caliente. That’s what I’m talking about. Thank you for inspiring me to change up this Sunday morning thing. I used to just post music videos of stuff I was jamming to with my java. But this is way better.

    • 4am- It’s hawwtaa in heeah than in the old Bawstan Gawden in June. Sorry 4am, I’m gonna have to do a post on this whole New England thing we got going on the back and forth. And much thanks on your comment, seriously. Glad you liked it.

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