Page 169 of Mountain Daddy
Probably am having that breakdown.
I cross the room and pick up the bag.
It’s been opened.
I unroll the top and sniff the beans inside. Then I take the carafe off the warmer and sniff the steam floating up from the surface.
Definitely having that breakdown.
With my free hand, I take a mug out of the cupboard and fill it with the special Chilean brew.
For a moment, I consider drinking it black, like Luther does. But I’m already sad. So I take my hazelnut creamer out of the fridge and add some to my coffee.
Then I take the container of leftover breakfast sausage out of the fridge, dropping the lid in the sink.
Carefully, I balance the Tupperware on top of my mug, and I pull the back door open.
Somehow managing not to spill, I bring my goods over to the stairs and take a seat.
“Buddy?” I say quietly, in case he’s sleeping, and set the glass dish of sausage on the bottom step.
I know leaving food out isn’t a great idea since I don’t want to accidentally attract bears. Or mountain lions.
And I know cooked meat isn’t the usual diet of a wild fox.
But I literally cannot handle the thought of Buddy going hungry because his foot is injured.
Sighing, I cup my mug with both my hands, and I stare down at the liquid for a long minute before I take a sip.
When I do, I curse.
Of course it’s delicious.
Why? Why can’t it be terrible?
If it were terrible, I’d happily throw the bag away and never have to drink it again.
But I can’t do that. Not with good coffee.
The heaviness that’s been looming around me settles on my chest as I stare off at nothing.
How am I going to do this?
Luther is best friends with my dad. They hang out all the time. How am I supposed to stay here and pretend I’m okay being around him?
I think about the possibility of Luther dating someone his age whodoesn’t want kids.
Think about him bringing her over here for dinner.
Think about my dad telling me stories about Luther and his new woman, not knowing he’s breaking my heart with every word.
I think about it.
And I truly don’t think I could handle it.
Setting my coffee down, I stand and head back inside, leaving the door open an inch as I do.
It only takes me a moment to retrieve my laptop, then I return to my spot on the steps.
