My Favourite Part

40: penny for your thoughts

It's around 11 when I wake up again. I'm hardly leaping out of the bed with a skip and a song, but I feel better. Calmer.

Eric's back from wherever he went, sound asleep with both arms wrapped tightly around his pillow. The late morning light paints a streak of sunshine across the half of his stubbled face that isn't buried in his pillow, and with his eyelids fluttering, he looks like an angel. He's frowning slightly though; clenching his jaw. My first instinct is to reach out and touch him – trace the light on his cheekbone, as I watch his features soften under my hand.

But I won't. Eric's a light sleeper. At least, that's the justification I'm sticking with.

The gnawing paranoia in my stomach looks at his tight-knitted brows and doesn't know who I'll awaken – my Eric or the man from last night who resented Thursdays and treated me like a kid.

"It's too early for all that," I mutter, stopping myself before my thoughts begin to spiral. My stomach grumbles when I toss the duvet aside, and I sigh in relief, grateful for something else to focus on: breakfast.

───

Pip's perched on the island when I walk into the kitchen, digging his hand into a family-sized box of breadsticks.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he grins when I enter, and his cheeriness is just the breath of fresh air I need.

"Morning – quite the balanced breakfast you've got there," I tease, nodding at the large packet.

Pip wiggles his blonde brows,

"Say what you like – it's a lazy man's hangover breakfast, and it works like a charm." He tilts the packet down so I can look inside.

"What's that all over them?" I ask, squinting at the golden sticky liquid the breadsticks are doused in. "Honey?"

"Indeed," he mumbles through a mouthful, "try one."

I slide a stick out of the pack, catching the fallout with my hand as I crunch.

"Not bad..."

It's got a certain 'comfort food charm', but I didn't drink nearly enough last night to stomach so much salt and sugar and carbs in one meal. The metabolism of teenage boys never fails to astound me. Pip puts three in his mouth at once before extending the packet to me again,

"I'm serious, you know – this shit works."

"Yeah, I think I'll stick to the more natural remedies, Pip," I laugh, shouldering the fridge with a raspberries and a pot of Greek yogurt in hand, "thank you, though. Where'd you even get those? I asked Ana where you guys keep the junk food, and the best we could find was some bloody kale chips."

"Personal stash," Pip says with a wink, "Mum swipes carbs like contraband. I'll hook you up, though."

"Ah, cheers," I snort distractedly. My attention is grabbed by a new text message notification.

Scott 😁: Hey, good news - I wasn't murdered by my sister! Thought it was only polite to let you know :)

I don't reply straight away – I put the phone down on the counter first and scoop out my breakfast – but my smile can't help itself.

With everything that's happened in the past 24 hours, it feels like ages ago that I was contemplating the whole 'reconciling with Scott' thing. Looking at the date on my phone now though, February 21st, it's only been a few days since we saw each other at the races.

Evangeline 😊: I'd say congratulations but with exams coming up I don't know if that's such good news after all...

Despite my best efforts to ignore them, the notifications I've left unread glare at me.