Page 5 of Perfectly Us
“You didn’t have to make breakfast,” I say, pulling out my chair.
“I know.” Dad fills two mugs with coffee and hands one to me before sitting down. His black hair is tousled, and his shirt is wrinkled, a drastic change from the sleek image he has throughout the workweek. “But soon, you’ll have your own place, and I won’t get to do this for you anymore.”
He sounds sad as he says it, and I see that same sadness in his blue eyes.
“Not for another few months,” I say before taking a bite of the waffle. He makes them from scratch. He’s always gone above and beyond for me, doing his best as a single dad. I never appreciated him when I was younger. But I do now. He sacrificed a lot for me. “I have enough for the deposit but not first month’s rent yet.”
“You know I can loan you the money.” Dad sips his coffee, then places it on the table. Some sloshes over the rim, and for some reason I stare as a droplet runs down the side of the cup.
I blink. “No, it’s cool. I wanna do it myself.”
“I understand. I was the same way, not wanting to accept handouts. But the offer stands if you change your mind.” He sips more coffee, then takes a bite. I realize I’m focusing on each of his movements. I feel a little out of it today. Hazy. Probably lingering effects from my dream. “Did you take your pill?”
“Huh?”
A crease forms between his eyes. “Your pill.”
“Oh.” I shift in my seat and take another bite. “Yeah. I took it.”
“Still making your mind fuzzy?”
“Nah, it’s okay.” The doctor adjusted my dosage last week, and I’ve experienced a few side effects. He said they should pass with time though. Just my body getting used to it or something. “No need for a straitjacket quite yet.”
Dad doesn’t find me nearly as funny as I find myself. He gives me an unamused stare.
“How many times do I have to say you’re not crazy? Honestly, kid, these things are more common than you think. Everyone needs a little help every once in a while.”
I need more than a little help.
“Thanks for breakfast, Dad.” I stand from the table and take my half-eaten waffle to the trash, scrape off the plate, then place it in the sink.
“Do you want me to call your doctor?” Dad turns in his chair to look at me. “Maybe we can put you on something else. You haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”
“I ate a whole bucket of buttered popcorn last night at the movies. I think I’m still full from that.”
He nods once. “Okay. How was the movie?”
“Good. Not as good as the first one, but sequels rarely live up to the hype.”
What stood out the most from last night, though, was the guy I met before the movie started. Alex. He was a good four or so inches shorter than me, but his presence seemed larger than life. Maybe it was the spark in his green eyes. A spark that jumped from him and hit me square in the chest when our gazes met.
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth before you leave.”
I shake my head at him. “You’re such a dentist.”
Dad chuckles.
I go back upstairs and brush my teeth before snatching my car keys off the hook in the kitchen and heading toward the door. “Later, Dad.”
“Have a good day at work!”
Sundays at the coffeehouse are pretty laid-back. Customers shuffle in and out throughout the day, but there’s hardly ever a rush hour. Which is great. Even with medication, I still get anxious and frazzled around a lot of people, just not as bad.
The sun glares off car windshields and reflects on the asphalt in the parking lot. The air is heavy with humidity, and you can forget about sucking in a deep, refreshing breath.
I wonder if that’s what Hell’s like, one big sun-heated parking lot that makes you feel like your skin is melting off your bones. People come in red-faced and sigh at the air-conditioned café. Which then makes me think of Heaven. I bet there’s air-conditioning there.
But then again, I don’t believe in either place.
