Tobin yawned loudly as she took another sip from her coffee, smacking her lips in the quiet of the kitchen as she turned on a burner. She placed the frying pan she’d been holding on it, waiting until it grew hot before pouring pancake batter inside. She rubbed her eyes as she waited, yawning again. This was the third morning in a row she’d woken up early to come to Christen’s to make a hearty breakfast, and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with her. But, she wanted her family to eat, and it was worth it knowing that both her son and her… her, well, she wasn’t sure what Christen was right now (I don’t know, Tobin. After everything that’s happened, I don’t know. I need to take things slowly). The woman she loved. That was a good way to think of Christen. Tobin loved her. They may not currently have a label, but they were “together” (complicated, Christen had said) and Tobin loved her. And she was going to make sure that the woman she loved ate a good breakfast, especially after she had confessed three days ago after their talk that she was too tired to make anything in the morning, and too busy vomiting, so she hadn’t been eating. Tobin hadn’t liked that. So she had asked if she could come over before they woke up and make something for them.
“You? You’re going to wake up early and you’re going to come here and you’re going to make us breakfast?”
“Yeah. I mean, you need to eat. I want you to eat. And I amcapable of waking up early, I just choose not to. But, I’ll choose to get up early now, for you. And for the baby and Henry. You need to learn to trust me and to like… let me in again. So, let me do this for you. Let me start proving to you that I’m serious and that I want to be here for you.”
And Christen had agreed, although she’d been skeptical of Tobin’s cooking. Tobin had been practising though, secretly, before coming to the mansion in the morning. The night before she cooked, she’d practise the meal at home and test it out, see if it was any good and iron out any kinks. Then, the next morning, she’d make her way to Christen’s a re-make the recipe, only better. She'd surprised Christen that first morning with how good her eggs benedict had turned out, Tobin knew, but it was a good surprise and it had been nice to sit together as a family. She and Christen had exchanged soft smiles and teasing words every morning since, and it was so nice, so right to start her mornings with her lover and her son. She and Christen may be complicated right now, but that was okay. They’d move past this, Tobin was sure, and she looked forward to it.
So it was working out, their arrangement, and Tobin was happy. She was happy to be with her family in the mornings, to share the first meal of the day together (even though Christen could only stomach a few small bites, packing up the rest for later), starting off the day together. She was also happy to be here, close to Christen, for whatever the brunette might need. Like, Tobin had quickly discovered, someone to hold back her hair as she vomited.
Speaking of which, Tobin looked up at the ceiling, hearing the familiar sound of Christen stumbling out of bed and rushing towards the en-suite. Tobin quickly turned off the element, yanking the frying pan away and onto a cold burner as she raced up the steps. The first morning, Christen had tried to push her away, had tried to kick her out of the bathroom, but Tobin had refused to leave. She refused to let Christen throw up alone, not when she was one floor below and knew that Christen was suffering. She couldn’t leave, so she had gently lowered Christen’s outstretched hand and took it in her own, her other hand coming up and sweeping away the brunette’s locks. She had stayed there, unmoving, until Christen had finally calmed down. That first morning had really driven something home for Tobin: her dad had been right. Christen was the one who was paying the real price of this pregnancy. Tobin was not suffering; she was not waking up every morning and vomiting until she hurt. Christen was.
