I wake up to Nutmeg bopping my nose, and have to pick her up and set her on the dresser while I pull on, I don’t know, sweatpants and a shirt, I guess, not that my hosts probably give a shit. The shirt is the right size – it might even be my shirt – the sweatpants are too small for me. I don’t know. I’ll ask them where they put my clothes once I’ve had something to eat. Nutmeg climbs from my shoulder to the top of my head.

I carry her in my arms down the stairs, because she’s too lazy to walk down on her own I guess, and she purrs all the way, nuzzling her face against my t-shirt. I manage to trade her for a cup of coffee.

“Was she in your room all night?” Perry asks.

I shrug, sipping the nectar of the gods. Fuck, Perry has good taste.

“How many times did you wake up suffocating,” Priscilla calls, from where she’s making, what is that, French toast? I hope it’s French toast.

“None,” I say.

Priscilla laughs, shaking her head at Perry. “She was probably in with Cinnamon like usual.”

Perry gives Nutmeg a little kiss on the nose and calls her silly, then sets her down on one of the brightly colored pillows that this whole fucking apartment is designed around, I swear, they’re exactly the right accent color in each room, it looks like one of those home design magazines, it’s ridiculous, I’m ruining it with my clothes that don’t fit while everyone else is in designer pajamas. Nutmeg immediately leaves the cat bed and goes to sleep on my foot instead. At least I’m sitting already.

Priscilla brings over a plate of – yes, it is French toast – delicious smelling chocolate and bananas on fried bread, and gives me a kiss on the head. “Comfort food, right, sweetie? You let me know what else you need and I’ll whip it right up.”

“He’s only going to say he needs more coffee,” Perry says.

Priscilla ducks away for a second, and comes back with a carafe, filling both of our cups and giving Perry a kiss too. She’s gone for slightly longer before she comes back with her own cup.

I look at both of their breakfasts, which consist entirely of coffee. Not that I haven’t done that myself on occasion, but still. “Aren’t you eating anything?”

“I’m on a juice cleanse,” Perry says, smugly, then drinks the rest of her coffee like that isn’t even the point, what is she even –

“Honey bunny, it is far too late for breakfast for the rest of us, we ate hours ago, and also, that is not something I eat on mornings where I still want to be able to jog,” Priscilla tells me.

I try to look around for a clock, but it doesn’t fit the décor or whatever, so I settle for just having a pervasive sense of temporal unreality.

Perry frowns slightly. “You’re not going to be late to work, if that’s what you’re wondering. You’ve got some time.”

I look between them. “Why are you still here?”

Perry gives me a look even more scalding than my coffee (bless these two, they always have the very best coffee in the very best state). “I called off today.”

I glance at Priscilla.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t give a fuck about your mental health, sugar,” she says, “I’m just home because the new trainee doesn’t like me and refuses to learn while I’m there.”

“Yeah, I barely care about you, either,” Perry says, “but, whatever, we’re stuck with each other, so I guess it’s this or nothing.”

I wrap her in a hug.

She bumps her head against mine. “You want that piece of key lime?”

I consider it for a moment, stare at my empty plate (even of chocolate; I scraped off the melted chips), and think, fuck it. I’m not so not hungry that I’m definitely not hungry. I can eat pie.

Perry brings the pie. Priscilla brings the coffee back. Nutmeg crawls up into my lap and purrs, very loudly, much too loudly to be unintentional. I don’t feed Nutmeg any pie. At some point, some kind of throw appears around my shoulders. I don’t know who brought it to me.

“You want to talk about it?” Perry asks, finally, when I’m, I don’t know, several hundred cups of coffee in, and Nutmeg is asleep again.

I shake my head.

Priscilla shakes her head back at me. “You probably should, though.”

I open my mouth, close it again. My voice sticks. “Darren and I had a fight.”

“Sweetie. Baby. Cutiekins.” Perry closes her eyes. “That much was fucking obvious.”

I shrug at her.

Priscilla swirls her coffee with a stick of cinnamon. “Yeah, I don’t know, Fox, you show up at our place overnight, I got to think it’s because you don’t want to go home.”

Perry points an accusing finger at me. “We had to go and buy an entire new wardrobe. Literally rebuild your closet from the ground up.”

I look her right in the eye. “No. You really didn’t.”

“Well, you better hope they’re the right size –”

“No, Perry, they will not fit you, I made a point of checking that before I bought them.”

“We can have them tailored.”

They both burst out laughing.

I stare down into the abyss of coffee in front of me. It stares back. “How the fuck do you guys know my sizes in things, anyway?”

Priscilla snorts. “Oh, like this one here doesn’t make me keep a chart with everyone’s sizes, just in case, in case of what, you ask? Nobody knows.”

“It never hurts to be prepared,” Perry agrees.

“Is this why you steal my clothing?” I ask her, “to check size labels?”

“Oh, honey, I just eyeball that,” Priscilla tells me, “you think I could do my job if I couldn’t?”

I frown at her. “You do hair.”

“Oh, if only,” she says. “You do something well one time….”

Perry rolls her eyes at me. “How do you think I manage to buy you something that fits perfectly every single Christmas, then?”

I grin at her. “I’ve never checked to see if they fit. I return them before the sales even start.”

She blows a raspberry at me.

prev | next

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s