The Café Vanellas

8: on second chances

// Toriv

I woke up late the next morning a little bit hungover. Not too much, just enough to feel it and be reminded of the stuff leading to it. It came back to me slowly, like a warm and pleasant dream: the evening at the bar, the flow of conversation and heat of everyone's bodies, the brush of hands...then something stuck in my brain, like an old-school music record coming to a screeching halt. Something wrong, something I had missed--

The other side of the bed shuffled and tossed, then buried deeper into itself in an attempt to escape the bit of noonday sunlight coming in through the curtains. I leaned over and poked the sleeping mass and was immediately rewarded with a kick in the shin.

"Ow! Dude!"

"You're on my side," the ungrateful blanket pile mumbled.

I poked it again, because I am not a quitter. "This is my bed, bro. All sides are my side."

"I thought Northern elves were supposed to be hospitable."

"And I thought red dragons didn't even need blankets."

The blanket mass turned red dragon turned Red flipped the covers off of his face, probably so I could fully appreciate the force of his just-woken-up glare. In case it wasn't already obvious, he isn't really a morning person. Or afternoon person, as it were.

I held up my hands and said, "Okay, okay, mi casa es tu casa and all that. You sleep your life away if you want."

He grunted and went back into the blankets. That's what I get for my Northern elven hospitality. That charming morning greeting along with the height of the sun behind the curtains told me that it was high time for a cup of coffee, so I slipped out of bed to make some.

The spring sun was bright over the rooftops, a sight which never fails to make me sigh like a lovestruck maiden. Gone were the woes of winter, cursed season of the cooped-up motorcycles and ruined lace-up boots. March was the month of new beginnings. Hopefully. This is Montréal, after all, which means springtime snowstorms are very much a possibility even after it's been warm and sunny for weeks, but I live in hope.

The first thing I did was feed the rats their breakfast. It should be noted that Sys and Dia were much happier to see me than the grumpy lump still camping out in my bed, but I reap the friends I sow, I guess. In any case, a little ratty love got me cheered up and ready for breakfast, so I set the coffee to perc while I sliced and toasted some bread and threw on a few condiments to sweeten the deal.

Red was still facedown under the monstrous pillow-and-blanket pile when I came back in with the breakfast platter, so I set the tray down and threw open the curtains to the glorious soon-to-be-summer sun.

I said, "Wake up and smell the coffee, my dude."

Red said, "Mmmrngh."

I sat on the edge of the bed and dug him out piece by piece. I always find it kind of funny how the only time Red can stand layers is when he's sleeping. You can't get him to wear a coat in the dead of winter but like hell you're going to get him to leave his blanket pile until he's good and ready.

Finally, he deigned to emerge from his cave, by which I mean he poked his head out and blew his hair out of his face. "What is that on the toast?"

"Uh, avocado?" I reached over to my half of the tray and took a bite. "And some sun-dried tomatoes and pepper. It's so good, man, try it."

He looked at me like my entire existence was a disappointment to him. "That is some serious hipster shit."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of all this deliciousness."