Reality

Chapter 18

I wake up the next morning, the sun spilling in from the window and warming my skin. Blinking my eyes a few times, my vision adjusts and I'm startled to find my bed empty.

I sit up and rub my tired eyes with the heels of my hands, racking my brain, trying to figure out if last night and all the news about Alex's father was an all too real dream. Scratch that—nightmare. And that a fragile Alex sleeping in my bed was just a fraction of my imagination.

I look around my room, finding no traces of him. But I realize the door to my bedroom is closed, something that never happens when Hallie is sleeping over. I always keep it open in case she needs me during the night.

Tossing back my sheets, I hop out of bed and walk out to the living room, my feet quickly padding against the hardwood. I'm relieved to first spot Alex's shoes still by the door, and then Hallie's giggle catches my attention.

Looking to my left, I find Hallie sitting at the kitchen island on a bar stool, shoving a piece of pancake into her mouth. Alex leans against the island across from her, his forearms resting against the granite countertop. The corner of his mouth is slightly turned up, a little bit of life shining back in his eyes, but I can tell he's still exhausted and emotionally raw from yesterday's events as Hallie babbles to him about preschool.

I slowly walk into the kitchen, catching Hallie's attention first.

"Auntie Joslyn! Your friend made pancakes," she tells me excitedly, her face beaming.

"Did he?" I look at the small, half eaten short stack of pancakes covered in syrup in front of her. There's also a glass of milk and a small bowl of cut up grapes.

I swing my gaze to Alex and he gives me a sheepish look. "I hope its ok," he says.

"Yeah... yeah it's ok," I say, surprised he got up and made breakfast for Hallie, but then I feel terrible because she probably woke him. "Um, coffee?" I ask, trying to keep things as casual as possible, for both Alex and Hallie's sakes.

"Sure. Thank you."

He stands up straight and watches me as I set up the coffee maker and turn it on, pulling two mugs out of the cabinet as the machine whirls and gurgles to brew the hot liquid.

"Do you want me to make you any?" he asks, gesturing to the pan on the stove and the ingredients still left out on the counter for pancake mix.

I shake my head and give him a small smile. "No, thanks. I'm not really hungry," I admit, still unsettled and confused, trying to digest everything. I know he's probably feeling the same way, even more so, but nevertheless I ask, "Do you want me to make you anything?"

He shakes his head, as I figured, probably unable to stomach anything for a while. His hair is curlier than normal from sleeping with it damp last night and not using any product, his long loose curls flopping as he shakes his head and drops his sad gaze to the floor. There's dark circles under his eyes from exhaustion and a five o'clock shadow developing on his face.