Wide awake

Chapter Fifty Four. Flotsam Florentines Part 1

B.P.O.V

Blueberries or raspberries? I silently mused, the vivid purple appearing more appealing than its pink companion. My eyes jumped from one to the other, assessing the pros and cons of differing flavors with syrup. And whipped cream. And sprinkles. And chocolate? 

Ooh! Chocolate chips…

When Alice had knocked on my door to rouse me for the yoga class (that I had no plans of attending), I’d been annoyed and borderline homicidal. The warmth and comfort of Edward’s arms and shallow breaths against my hair had been impossible to abandon. With a gentle tenderness that my anger made nearly unfeasible, I’d ducked out from under his arm and stepped out into the hall.

“Oh my God.” She’d smiled while standing in the hall, having seen Edward asleep in the bed before I could close the door. “You were being cuddly and gross, weren’t you?” she’d teased, eliciting my sleepy shock at her immediate acceptance. I’d really been expecting her to make a scene, so her casual teasing and large grin was more than slightly surprising. When I questioned her strange approval, she’d simply shrugged. “I’ve missed your ‘Edward Face,’ and anyways, I always knew he’d come back. Call it intuition.” She’d winked, tapped her temple, and then she’d skipped down the hallway, promising to cover for me if Kate, the yoga instructor, questioned my nonappearance.

I hadn’t seen her so jovial in months, and I was curious if she’d been hiding her happiness from me the entire time, or if Alice was merely happy because she’d realized long ago that Edward was my key to contentment. Perhaps that was the depth of her sisterly love for me. I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t honestly relate. I loved seeing her ‘Jasper Face’ after all—not that I was conceding to even having an ‘Edward Face.’

Now, the chill of the open fridge was gradually making my grogginess dissipate, transforming into a desire I was all too familiar with. Cooking. There would be little to no hope of ever going back to sleep now. With a tugging smile, I chose blueberries and set about gathering everything necessary on the granite counter tops. I stood on my tip-toes, bouncing a bit as I flittered about the kitchen and worked. It was amazing how much of a difference a mere eight hours of undisturbed sleep could make. 

Carmen had once given me a stern lecture on the importance of sleep. She’d droned on and on about its effects on emotional health as well as physical. I’d sort of shrugged it off because we hadn’t gotten to the point where discussions involving my sleeping habits weren’t met with my annoyed evasion. 

I hated it when she was right.

I felt revived and clear-headed from the night of uninterrupted sleep. The lifted veil of exhaustion made everything seem vivid, opaque, and obvious like everything I’d needed before was just too close to be seen. Now, my muscles felt stronger, my mind felt sharper, and my eyes, though heavy and mourning the loss of slumber, were wide and more alert than I’d been accustomed to for months. 

Eager for an outlet for all of this vigor, I made Edward pancakes with blueberries and excessive toppings. I arranged his bacon and eggs into one of those disgusting happy faces that usually made me nauseous. I squeezed him fresh juice and was too excited to be embarrassed by the all-too-familiar need to flaunt my meager aptitudes. I made a bit of a mess in the kitchen and didn’t pause to clean anything up when I was finished.

I packed up his extravagant breakfast and carried it upstairs, battling the conflicting urges to both sprint faster and take my time. When I reached the door, I carefully opened it with two fingers, licking my lips in concentration and cradling the breakfast tray carefully. 

My brows creased in confusion when I didn’t find his slumbering form lying in the bed until a noise from the bathroom alerted me to his presence. I was calculated as I arranged his breakfast atop the mattress and awaited his emergence. I plucked a blueberry from the tray and popped it into my mouth as my stomach rumbled, but really, I didn’t want to eat. My Edward-induced sleep high made little things like food seem inconsequential to the excitement of watching him eat it. I remembered how much he enjoyed my cooking, and I was eager to enjoy his pleasure after the turmoil of the previous day.