Whiskey Latte

March, 2017

March, 2017

Spring had started out cold in Berlin. They'd forgotten the window cracked open overnight and the room had cooled down to the point where Ingrid relished the heat of the human in her bed, even though it was a weekday. The sheets were all tangled up around them and she drew closer to Dale to keep warm. In his sleep, Dale draped an arm over her torso and snuck a foot between her ankles.

They lay entwined like that until Ingrid's alarm went off on the nightstand. It was that agonizing moment in the morning, when she had just been conscious for a split second and immediately fallen back into a shallow slumber, engulfed in a dream so vivid she mistook it for reality. Then her alarm swung in like a hammer and smashed her dream to pieces she couldn't find. Being ripped so forcibly from that fragile state caused her physical pain.

"Ingrid?" Dale murmured in a raspy voice, awoken by her iron grip and childish whimpers.

Clearing his throat, he tried to prop himself up on an elbow, but Ingrid's hold on him restrained his movements. The high-pitched ringtone of her alarm continued to blare.

"Hey," he said softly, as she continued to whimper. He stretched over her to reach for her phone and turn off the alarm. "Hey," he whispered again, kissing the top of her head. "Come on, now. You've got this."

But she only responded by intensifying her whimpers.

Dale chuckled and with the patience of a saint, managed to disentangle the sheets and crawl out of bed with Ingrid clinging to him like a koala. He lowered her on the edge of the bathtub and stooped to talk to her as if to a little girl.

"Now you get under that shower and when you come out to the kitchen all dressed, prim and proper, I'll have your breakfast and your coffee ready for you. All right? Do we have a deal?"

Ingrid gave a meek nod, her bottom lip swollen in a pout.

"Good girl," Dale smiled and kissed her forehead.

In the kitchen, after setting up the coffee machine, Dale grabbed an avocado, fetched the bread from the cupboard and put on some music to go with his breakfast-making moves. He was almost done when Ingrid emerged from the bedroom in a silky shirt, tucked into the front of her crisp black trousers.

"Good morning!" he greeted cheerfully, giving her a once-over. "You look ready to slay."

"I feel like I'm going to."

Ingrid went straight for the glass pot of the coffee machine and began her usual process: mug, coffee, sugar, milk...When she reached for the sliding shelf where she kept the whiskey, she stole a glance at Dale and retreated her hand.

"Are we seriously having avocado toast for breakfast?" she exclaimed instead.

"Yup."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Dude, I packed leftover pizza for lunch, what do you take me for?"

Dale laughed. She went to sit down and he placed a plate before her. Ingrid lifted her slice of toast and took a tentative bite, eyebrows knitted together. As she chewed up the mouthful, her wrinkled forehead slowly smoothened and she nodded her approval.

"Not bad," she said. "So when's your flight?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I need to finish packing my shit today."

"You want me to come see you off?"

Dale hesitated. "Do you think you can?"

Ingrid shrugged. "I can make time, if that's what you mean."

He blushed behind his toast. "That'd be quite lovely, thank you."

"I think I'll miss you a bit," she found herself saying.