When I woke up, my mouth was entirely parched, and my face felt swollen in the puffy, dehydrated sort of way, making me feel like a marshmallow in the desert. The darkness in the room poses a pitch-black and blinding sensation making it difficult to find my bearings. With complete and utter drowsiness, I reach out for the glass of water that I had placed on top of my nightstand before I went to sleep, but with a little too much force and uncertainty of the position where I set it, I ended up knocking it onto the rug next to the bed. I checked the time on my phone, and it was only a quarter to six in the morning. Early, too early. Sometimes when I drink alcohol, my body is restless, and I don't get the required amount of sleep that my body and mind need to feel fully recuperated. The combination of jet lag mixed with alcohol woke me out of my slumber, and will most likely keep me from falling back to sleep. Not the brightest idea to go out on a bender the night before you start a job. If I were in my twenties, I would have had the ability to stay out all night and work a full shift at the diner the next day without having the slightest headache, but those days are long gone.
I blindly find the switch on a small desk lamp that sits on the same bedside table that my water fell from. My eyes flinch unwelcoming the intense light and have to adjust from the darkness. As I sit up moving to the edge of the bed, I put my foot on the floor, stepping directly into the wet rug.
"Shit," I mutter to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose and realizing the presence of a throbbing headache that is taking front and center in-between my brows and underneath my eyebrow bone. It seems like it's less from alcohol and more from the lack of water consumption from the past several days. I pick up my empty glass off the floor and go into the bathroom to fill it up, get a towel to soak up the saturated carpet, and look for Advil. After rummaging through the cabinets, I pull open a few drawers and see a box of Nurofen. I read through the label checking the active ingredients and the usage facts then deciding for myself that my headache was dreadful enough to warrant three Nurofen tablets and not the two it recommends.
The kids will be up in thirty minutes to start getting ready for their day at school, so there is no point in returning to bed. I'm going to have to pull my shit together, taking care of my motherly responsibilities, and then spend the rest of the day cleaning the monstrous house making sure that it is spick and span before returning home to more motherly obligations.
Before I begin my morning routine, I slip into a pair of high waisted track pants, a long-sleeved cotton shirt that's covering a cropped cami, and grab my white sneakers ready to wear when I get downstairs. It's clothing comfortable enough to do dirty work in, and something that I'm not worried about getting destroyed by chemicals.
In the bathroom, I wash the sleep off my face and apply my luxuriously rich face cream, which immerses my skin in a profound, soothing, moisturizing way helping to heal the dryness from the bitter cold and recent travel. My skin immediately feels soft to the touch, supple, and smooth. The lines and wrinkles that appear on my face are visibly softened. I apply only a minimal amount of makeup, and since the curl in my hair still looks decent from last night, I toss my head over, whipping my hair back to provide some slight volume. It's almost impossible to tell by looking at me that I had a long night out, drinking at a pub.
On my way to Brook's room to wake him up, I pass Cami in the hall. She is already up and getting herself ready for school. Teenage girls put so much thought and effort into their appearance these days, always selfie-ready as she says.
"Hey mom, I talked to Maysie last night while you and grandma were out. She is coming home with me after school today, and her mom is going to come to pick her up around seven o'clock. Are you still cool with that?" Cami asks while stretching her arms over her head and letting out a yawn. She is a naturally gorgeous girl who needs little to no makeup to accentuate her appearance, and I'm not saying this because I'm biased being her mom. She just is. The light freckles on her nose match her hair color, emphasizing her warm brown eyes. I'm not sure which side of the family she gets her brown curly locks from, but they flow down her back and take little effort to make them look flawless.
I hug her and put my hand on the back of her head, pulling her closer to my shoulder. "Of course I am, I can't wait to meet her and her mom. I'll make sure there is an extra place set at dinner for her so she can eat with us," I say, releasing her but giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. I have to take them when I can get them because they are few and far between these days. She likes to think that if I wasn't her mother that we wouldn't be friends, but I would like to believe that's not true.
"Ok, thanks, mom. I can walk Brooks to school if you want to stay here." I am surprised and amazed at how thoughtful Cami can be. It makes me feel like I'm doing something critical in life right.
"No, that's ok hun. On the way home, I need to make a stop at a coffee shop I went to yesterday. I didn't have my wallet on me, so I owe them money for my coffee. Shoot that reminds me, I need to go and grab my wallet before I forget." I almost forgot again to bring my purse, and I am thankful for the quick reminder so I can go back to my room and retrieve it.
After I grab my purse, I check to make sure my wallet is inside. I wake Brooks up, so he has a sufficient amount of time to get ready for school, and I head downstairs into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The coffee is on an automatic timer and is already full, ready to be poured. The steam coming out of my cup hits my nostrils awakening my entire body. It amazes me how your mood can change just from one cup of coffee.
While I am enjoying my caffeine fix, I proceed to whip up eggs and toast for Cami and Brooks, then pack their lunches and snacks for school. Right as I was finishing up, they came down to eat breakfast, and soon enough, we are all out the door with our winter gear on, and en route to our separate destinations.
Cami's school is around four streets past Brooks' so she follows a few steps behind us blaring music through her AirPods and humming along to whatever tune she is playing. I motion to Cami through her music that we are at Brooks' school and wave goodbye to her. She removes an AirPod from one ear and mumbles, "See you guys later."
"Love you too, have a great day!" I yell loudly enough to send her eyes rolling because the thought of anyone else hearing my words of affirmation has that effect on her.
"Mom, you can drop me off here. I don't need you to walk me in today. No one else's parents walk them in." I won't lie, the rejection slightly stings, but I am also impressed by his independence. The signs of him growing up are all there, and he feels confident enough not having to use me as an amenity in providing comfort for small self-reliant tasks any longer.
He hugs me, and I press his head into my stomach, trying to hold back tears, "Ok, I love you and remember Cami and her friend will be walking home with you. Have a great day today." I hand him his lunch bag.
"Love you to mom," he says while he is walking toward the courtyard.
Not more than ten minutes later, I am back at The Red Rooster, and before entering, I can already smell the aroma of boiling coffee. The line in the coffee shop is longer than it was yesterday, so while I wait, I pull out my phone and have three missed texts and calls from Jake. Until this very moment, it slipped my mind that I had called Jake last night in my drunken state. What the hell was I thinking?
Jake: Did you try to call me?
Jake: Is everything ok?
Jake: Did something happen with the kids? Can you fucking answer me?
I lie in response, Butt dial. Everyone is fine.
Just like that, I feel like a drunken twenty-one year old, making an impaired decision without rationalizing the outcome of my thoughtless choice in a moment of weakness. I would never have called him otherwise unless it was an actual emergency. The day he showed his grotesque disloyalties, my desire to be married to my "devoted husband" concluded. My hand pinches the bridge of my nose yet again as I can feel my headache starting to reoccur.
"You're looking like you could use a cup of coffee today, Miss Ro." Geez, thanks. Somehow Ben looks even more ravishing today than he did yesterday, and his eyes are more of an aqua blue that resembles coastal beach water of a Caribbean island. My mind can only wonder if he can see the late-night that I tried to camouflage still present on my face.
"I wanted to stop by and pay you for the cup of coffee yesterday." Smiling, I hold my purse up, showing that I didn't forget my payment today.
He leans over the counter, gesturing with a wave of his finger to come closer I'm guessing so no one can hear him except for me.
"I told you yesterday was on me, think of it as a welcome to Norwich. Today, however, you can pay at the end of the counter. Oat milk latte if I remember correctly, right Ro?" He is close enough that I can smell the light floral and spicy fragrance he has on.
I can feel the warmth in my face forthcoming, "Unless you have almond milk today, then yes, oat milk it is," I say with sarcasm. "Thank you again for yesterday, though. I do appreciate it." I will put a tip in the tip jar large enough to cover yesterday's coffee and a sufficient enough tip for both days when I get to the end of the counter.
"Will you have your coffee here, or will you be taking it To-Go?" he asks with his perfectly white smile and grabbing.
Ben must be around my age, and you can tell by the way his muscles are visible through his shirt that he works out regularly. Today, despite the cold outside, he is wearing a tight navy T-shirt that accentuates his blue eyes, and dark jeans that sit low on his hips and tighten as they descend from his legs. Yes, I check him out and appreciate how well he fills them out.
"I'll take it To-Go please," giving him a small smile in return and walk towards the end of the counter to pay for my coffee.
He whispers something to the person making the drinks, and they switch positions taking over right of me. "So, where are you and your coffee off to today?" He asks while making what I can only assume is my drink.
I find myself intrigued by this gorgeous barista and wish I could get to know him better. Since Ben is most likely within at least a couple of years of myself, and I don't have any friends here so far, it would be nice to get to know someone locally, and men tend to be less dramatic, more honest, and with lesser jealousy than women.
"My coffee and I are about to be on our way to our to work, and since I'm new to town, I'll be working for my dad doing the odd ins and outs until I can find something more permeant. Not my first job choice, but I don't have an option at the moment."
"That's brilliant that you already have something lined up. Just because it's for the family doesn't lessen the fact that it's a job, especially because you'd rather be working than to not work at all." He's right. Just because my dad provided me work, and it's something that I didn't go out and drudge up on my own accord doesn't mean that it somehow diminishes it from being "mine." I felt the need and the importance of proving to everyone that I can make it on my own without the assistance of anyone else, but the only person I should be concerned about proving anything to is myself.
"Yea, I definitely feel fortunate to have something going on so soon. I am not any good at sitting around."
The girl behind the register is a beautiful bleach blonde, with full lips and a pouty smile. "That will be six pounds, please." I don't see myself getting used to the money conversion anytime soon, even though it's close enough to the US dollar. I pull out my card because all I have is fifteen pounds in my wallet, and I still need to put money in the tip jar since there isn't a tip line on the receipt. I retrieve the ten pound and five-pound notes from my wallet, folding them in half and depositing them into the glass jar that has a piece of paper taped on it saying, Tips- they are like hugs without awkward body contact. The witty quote makes me giggle to myself.
"Thank you," exclaims the blonde in disbelief from the generous tip. I'm sure she's unaware that I received a freebee yesterday, but I just retort with, "You're welcome."
Ben comes around the counter and hands me my second cup of coffee of the day, but I'm looking forward to this one, given that it will taste much better than my plain black coffee from the house.
Ben is tall but not as tall as Theo. Theo. Why would I even do something so out of the ordinary as to compare these two men? One, who I had a "wild time" with once, and the other who makes my coffee and provides me with amusing chitchat. Yes, Ben is good looking, but what I desire most from him right now is the company from a friendship and nothing more. My subconscious pushes Theo to the back of my mind where he belongs.
Ben grabs my arm, leading me to the side where we would be out of the way of customers. "Did I see you put money in the tip jar, Ro?" He asks with calm eyes and a smooth British voice. I genuinely believe I will never grow old of the accent here.
I lie for the second time today. "Me? No, Ben, I would never do such a thing," I sarcastically claim, fanning my palm over my chest. Looking in his eyes, I sense he is surprised that I paid extra.
"Ok, I'm just making sure you weren't trying to pull one over on me," we both laugh, probably more at ourselves than anything else. This jesting back and forth banter reminds me of how my dad and I joke with each other. "All in all, how would you rate your first day in our fair city?"
"Hm. That's a tough one. I would give it a solid six. If it weren't for the jet lag, cold, and lack of almond milk, I would give it an eight," he laughs, and I shrug.
"That sounds like a proper rating, but I would have thought the complimentary java would have maybe won an extra point. Welp, you can't win unless you learn to lose." He pushes his hair out of his face with his hand, and I notice the shop becoming more crowded as we stand here and talk. I'm enjoying conversing with him and don't want it to end, but I feel guilty for keeping him from working and hope that I won't get him in trouble.
"Well, maybe I will see you tomorrow, but I need to get going, Ben. I have a very long day ahead of me and need to get a jump on it." I look down at my feet and then up into his gleaming aqua eyes. I swear his damn eyes have a language of their own.
"See you tomorrow, and enjoy the caffeine, Ro," he puts his hand out to shake mine, and once I place mine in his, he pulls me towards him, to give a lingering lip-contact-to-cheek double kiss. I can feel his bristly stubble when his cheek brushes against mine. It's not pretentious or intimate; it's just normal. "Social kissing" is what Nancy calls it. My dad finds the social kiss intensely awkward, and it has led to almost anxiety for him. Some women try and greet him with a kiss, so his coping strategy is to look away and take a step backward while saying a quick hello and moving on quickly. It's awkward but hilarious to watch.
"Cheers," Ben says, still gripping my hand, and at this point, my face is crimson from the contact. The simple touch from another human is everyday ordinary, but at times can make your body experience exhilarating feelings it usually wouldn't.
"Cheers," I retrieve my hand and walk out the door, appreciative of the December winter air filling my lungs.
Arriving home, I walk into the kitchen, and Nancy is sitting at the bar top, reading a newspaper, and eating soft boiled eggs with toast.
"Good morning Nance. How did you sleep last night?" I ask assuming she slept well because she slept in later than usual this morning.
"Oh, Ro, good morning. I slept like a rock at the bottom of a pond. I'm sorry I wasn't up to help with the kids this morning," she slides out of her chair, walking gracefully to the sink, placing her dishes inside.
"You don't need to wake up early to help. I appreciate all the help that you have given, but I don't want you to feel like you're somehow obligated to help take care of the kids or myself. Please, go about your normal routine and don't let us get in the way more than we already have." Being a mom, it's no easy feat to accept help from anyone offering, even from your family. Generally, mothers want to prove to themselves but also others, that we can do it all on our own. I guess that would make us proud. I am proud, too proud to ask for help even when I may desperately in need of it.
"Belt up, Rosalie. While you are living here, I will be involved and aid in any way I can, whether you like it or not. I love you, and as a family, we pull together, particularly in times of need. That will be the last we talk of that, so put your pride aside, for now, darling." Belt up? It must be a British thing I haven't heard before.
She saunters over to me with arms wide and embraces me. I never felt this kind of support from my husband in all the years of our marriage. Yet again, I can visibly identify what unconditional love is, just from being surrounded by my family in a matter of a couple of days. Nancy loves me with no conditions. She didn't give birth to me and wasn't there for my first breath, but she loves me as if I was her own.
I disengage from her embrace and put my hands up, surrendering defeat, "You win this round, and seriously thank you for always being there to back me. I don't think I could get through this without you and dad."
"Of course, love. Now your dad said you would need to get to the Murphy house to start cleaning. He left the keys to the Bronco right here for you," she hands me a keychain in the shape of the state of Texas. "It shouldn't be hard to drive because it's American seating in the car, but you have to remember that the roads are opposite. I can always take you if you don't feel comfortable enough to drive yourself."
"The Bronco? He still has that old thing? I can drive it; I just need the address to the place so I can put it into the navigation on my phone." My dad has had the nineteen-seventy Bronco since before I was born. I remember he would take the top off of it as soon as Spring arrived and would leave it off as the weather permitted, letting the wind whip our hair around and playing classic eighties rock.
Taking a sip from her teacup, she says, "It's refurbished now. After he had it shipped over here, he did some work for a man that owns an auto body repair shop. One thing led to another, they worked out a deal, and now the Bronco is like brand spanking new."
Nancy led me into the garage and started it up for me. She wasn't kidding; it looks like the paint is wet. The bottom half is grey, and the top is white. The tires are larger than what I remember, lifting the body off the ground. Once she gives me a little driving lesson and street advice, I put the address into my phone and set the truck in reverse.