Delta

ix. cold coffee

{ picture: early morning lydia; song: cold coffee by ed sheeran }

When I woke up the next morning, I was disoriented, sitting up quickly and blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. The room I was in wasn't mine, and to the best of my knowledge, I hadn't stayed over at anyone's house (or room) since before my Dad left. Finally, I realized I was in Hayden's room.

I fell back onto the bed, smiling goofily, and then covered my face with my hands to mask my smile. Hayden himself was still asleep on the futon bed, shirtless now, flat on his stomach with his face smushed into his pillow. Even in my half-asleep state, it was hard not to ogle his shoulder muscles, because God, did that boy ever have nice shoulder muscles.

It had to be about nine-ish—the light was filtering through the windows brightly, but not as sharply as it did closer to dawn. I had a little time to kill, and even without considering the kiss and heart-to-heart, I was feeling more than grateful towards Hayden for letting me stay the night. And the key to a boy's heart is food, so pancakes it was, because a) everyone loved pancakes and b) they were all I knew how to make.

I got out of Hayden's bed as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him, and went down the stairs and into the kitchen just as cautiously, tying up my hair as I went. I'd only ever caught glimpses of Hayden's kitchen before—yellow walls, white countertops, oak cabinets—but never its entirety. Plants lined the window sill, and the refrigerator was covered in pictures. If I looked closely, I could watch Hayden grow up from a wriggling toddler to the male model of now. It was so much different from the emptiness of my kitchen. We only used ours to store food, but this place was eclectic and homey, even (especially) with the subway tile backsplash. Like a kitchen was supposed to be.

I started to rifle through the cabinets, looking for the necessary supplies—flour, baking powder, sugar, etc.—but I didn't know where anything was, so it took longer than expected. After about a minute or so of only locating the flour and sugar, I abandoned the cabinet looting and went over to the refrigerator. But just as I opened the door, someone coughed from behind me.

I spun around, slamming the fridge shut with a little too much force in my surprise. A woman was sitting at a table that I hadn't noticed before, watching me with one eyebrow raised. There was a half-empty coffee mug next to the spread-out newspaper in her hands. "Hello," she said, the corners of her mouth pulled up in amusement.

Christ. There was no doubt about it—this was Hayden's mother. They had the same smile and eyes. "Uh, hi," I said quickly, my voice slightly higher than normal as I tried to rearrange my face into a smile. "You must be Mrs. Parker."

Hayden's mother lowered the newspaper but didn't say anything for a moment or two. She was beautiful, the sort of beautiful that didn't fade over time, and young—probably not even forty. "I never was Mrs. Parker," she answered, still watching at me. "You can call me Johanna."

"I'm Lydia," I told her, trying out another nervous smile. God, was I ever terrible at these things. "Lydia Mason. And this is a really awkward introduction. Sorry. Also, I swear I'm not trying to rob you. I was just going to make Hayden breakfast."

Johanna laughed for real this time. She had the kind of infectious laugh that could make anyone feel comfortable. "I didn't assume that you were robbing us. I have a little more faith in my son than that."

It wasn't exactly a compliment, but it felt like one. "Uh, thanks," I said, the words turning up at the end like a question.

That was about the time that I realized Johanna was supposed to be on a business trip, and seeing as there weren't any bags or jackets lying around, she must've gotten in a while ago. Which meant she might've seen me in Hayden's room. Jesus. Mother. Hecking. Christ. This was literally the worst possible first meeting of one's best friend/crush/something. She—a teenage mother—had found a blue-haired, locally notorious sixteen-year-old girl that she had never met before in her sixteen-year-old son's bed while she was away. Oh Lord, please kill me now.