Chapter 24: Saturday

On Saturday I woke at ten past eleven to light on the quilt and a body beside me that had not moved.

We had come home to Butler Street at three in the morning, because I wanted my own bed.

Winston lay on his back with one arm over his head, mouth slightly open, hair flat on one side.

It was the longest I had ever seen him sleep.

I watched him for a while.

Then I put on his gray t-shirt and went down to make a mess.

It was a very good mess.

I made pancakes from a mix.

That took a bowl, a whisk, a spatula, and two pans, because I couldn't find the first.

I cracked an egg and dropped half the shell in.

I put batter on the counter, on the stove and on one sleeve of the t-shirt.

The sink was already full from the week.

I added the bowl.

When the first stack was done, I put it on a tray with two forks, syrup and coffee.

I carried it up the stairs.

He was awake.

He was sitting up against the iron rail, in the quilt, blinking at the clock on my nightstand.

"It's eleven fifty-two," he said, in a voice of pure wonder.

"I know."

"Before you, I had never slept past eight."

"You say that every time."

"It keeps being true."

I set the tray on the bed.

He looked at the pancakes, which were shaped like Ohio.

"Are those..."

"Mistakes. Eat them."

He ate one with his fingers.

A line of syrup ran down his wrist, and I leaned over and licked it off.

He went very still.

"Daria."

"Mm."

"It's noon."

"Almost."

"You're covered in batter."

"So are you now."

"It's on the quilt."

"I'll wash the quilt."

"I will wash the quilt," Winston said.

I pushed the tray to the end of the bed.

I took the t-shirt off over my head and tossed it on the floor.

I climbed on top of him in the daylight, with the quilt twisted at his hips.

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