𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XXXIX

January 15, 1978

Music in my ears, and the hot winter sun in my eyes, I finally stir awake. Lonely as a whisper on a star chase. The familiar, soft singing voice of Brian fills my ears, along with the sound of electric guitar. It is being played uncomfortably loudly throughout my home, which must mean Roger let himself in again. The clock tells me it's seven thirty, and I groan aloud.

Stumbling out of bed, I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater, padding out to the kitchen where the source of the noise is. Roger is in the kitchen, hovering over the stove with a carton of eggs, my daughter sitting atop the counter beside him.

He's humming along with the music, and poking at the substance in the pan when he sees me. "Oh, good, you're awake. I'm making breakfast."

Audrey waves at me from her spot, her hair sticking up sideways.

"Would it have killed you to play this a little quieter?" I say over the music, as The Millionaire Waltz begins to play.

Roger only shakes his head. "I had to dig pretty far back in your collection to find this," he tells me instead, as the eggs sizzle. "I thought you said you listened to us."

"I do." I scrape back a chair at the kitchen table. "It's my favorite one, actually."

"Really."

"And hey, I thought you didn't cook."

He wiggles his eyebrows. "I've gotten better, actually. And with Audrey helping me, I'm unstoppable. Miss, how do you like your eggs?"

"She likes scrambled," I tell him, and he nods. "Want me to make some toast, or something?"

"No, you sit there. We're the cooks, right, Audrey?" He winks, poking her in the stomach, to which she giggles in delight. She's still in her pajamas, her stuffed animal in a heap on her lap. Her blue eyes carefully watch Roger as he cooks, some leftover sleep still evident in her slouch.

"When did you get here?"

The blonde glances at me for a moment, turning back to the pan. "Around seven, I suppose. It was a long night, if you know what I mean..."

"I'm not sure I do."

Now that I take a closer look at him, I notice the dark circles, the exhausted yet frantic twinkle in his eyes. "I'm running on about an hour of sleep. Party at Fred's. I wasn't going to go, but you know, things changed. I wanted to make it here for breakfast, so here I am."

"You really didn't have to."

He shrugs, searching noisily in one of the cupboards above the stove. "Again, wanted to." He plates Audrey's breakfast, setting it on the table and lifting her into the seat beside me. The child grins, going straight in with her hands instead of the fork provided. "Now, you."

"Audrey use your fork, for God's sake-"

"I can't remember how you like your eggs."

"Just surprise me," I say, flashing a grateful smile. "Now, will you let me pour my own tea?"

It's something he finally allows, and I pour myself a cup, sipping on it slowly as Roger cooks and Audrey- messily- eats. The album still plays, now at a lower volume, and I find myself humming along to it.

"What are you doing today?" I ask.

"Well." He's now putting a few slices of bread in the toaster. "I'll be out of your hair soon, a man does need his sleep. Then I guess I have the day to myself, if you don't want me. Fred has been nagging us to start thinking about this new album, so I'll work on that. Lyrics, maybe."