14. Laila #2
“Great,” I mutter, annoyed that I forgot to charge it.
I walk back into the bedroom in search of a charger and find one on Bryce’s side of the bed.
I plug my phone in and wait for it to turn on.
When it does it immediately begins to ding with a bunch of notifications.
Emails, text messages, social media comments, and direct messages.
Then I see the time, a full three hours past the time that I intended to wake up.
“Shit,” I curse to myself.
I leave my phone charging and go in search of Bryce, padding down the hall to the living room. Movement on the balcony catches my eye and I see Bryce sitting out there on a small couch with his back to me. He’s scribbling things in a leather journal, head bent in concentration.
I walk over and pull open one of the french doors, the early spring air is cooler than I anticipated based on Bryce’s lack of clothing.
Bryce looks up from his notebook and smiles at me. “Hey sleepyhead.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were tired so I let you sleep,” he says. “Snoring too.”
“I don’t snore!” I exclaim.
Bryce chuckles and pats beside him for me to come over and sit.
“No, I probably smell. I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth or anything yet.”
“I didn’t ask you about any of that. Come here.”
With a huff I comply, closing the few steps of distance between us. He sets his notebook and pen on the small table next to us and then turns his attention back to me.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
“I was supposed to be up hours ago. I forgot to set an alarm.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“Why are you being difficult?” I ask.
“I’m not,” he says simply. “I asked about how you slept, that’s what I care about. Not what time you were ‘supposed’ to be awake.”
I roll my eyes at him and frown.
“You can pout all you want. I care about you, not your productivity.”
“I actually slept great,” I concede.
“I bet you did,” he replies, mimicking snoring noises.
I playfully smack his chest. “I do not snore!”
I fold my legs under me to sit criss-cross and lean my shoulder against Bryce’s.
“How are you?” I ask softly.
Bryce being vulnerable and sharing his grief with me last night isn’t something I want to gloss over or minimize because it's a big deal. Of all the people he could’ve gone to last night he chose me and I want to honor that. To hold space for his feelings, for his grief, because he deserves it.
“I’m okay,” he replies. “Grief is a bitch sometimes. It's been years so I guess it shouldn’t hurt as much anymore, but it does.”
“There’s no timeline for when you should be done grieving the loss of someone you love. Despite what they say, time doesn’t heal all wounds.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around me.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that. It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” he says. “I literally woke you up out of your sleep and you were here when I needed you. That’s a big deal to me.”
I turn so I can see Bryce’s face fully and when I do I can see the sincerity in his eyes.
My heart swells at the gratitude displayed so prominently all over his face and I can feel all the emotions that I’ve held back, pushed down and closed behind the door of ‘friendship’ clawing to fight their way out.
My stomach grumbles, loudly, and we both burst out laughing at the intrusion.
Bryce taps my thigh, signaling for me to stand up, I do and he follows. “Come on, let’s get you some food.”
“That’s okay, I’ll eat when I get home. I’m already really behind on the things I need to get done.”
“Do you have anything due today? Anything that is an absolute necessity that you do?” he asks.
“Well no, but I-”
“Eat first,” he says, cutting me off, standing to his full height. “And then I’ll take you home. The work will still be there after you eat.”
“Are you holding me hostage?” I ask looking up at him.
“Is that what you want to call it? Correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t think hostages get breakfast made for them in a penthouse in the city.”
Bryce opens the door and holds it open for me to walk through first and I don’t bother protesting anymore. My stomach was growling again at the mention of food again, impatiently insisting that I remedy its emptiness pronto.
I take a seat in one of the stools at the island and watch Bryce move around in the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers and pulling things out.
“You’re making food for me?” I ask, surprised.
Bryce chuckles at my question before answering. “I am. Is that okay?”
I watch as he pulls out a carton of eggs and some bacon amongst other ingredients. “Yeah of course, I just didn’t expect it, that’s all. I figured that you would have people for these kinds of things. A chef or something.”
“I do have a chef, but I tend to fend for myself for breakfast because I don’t really like rewarmed breakfast foods. And my mom made sure I knew how to cook. She wasn’t having any of that gender roles in the household shit.”
I nod in understanding. “
“What about you?” he asks. “Do you cook?”
“I mean I can cook, like I won’t starve or anything. I just don’t really like cooking, I don't find joy in it the way that other people do.”
Bryce nods his head in understanding and I watch as he cracks a couple of eggs into a bowl in preparation to scramble them.
“Is there any food that you don’t like?”
“Tomatoes,” I reply, crinkling my nose.
“Tomatoes,” Bryce repeats. “Got it.”
Bryce finishes making us breakfast and places a fully assembled plate in front of me before he joins me at the island with a plate of his own.
When it comes to types of foods, breakfast foods rank amongst my least favorites.
I would happily eat a burrito or a bowl of pasta at the crack of dawn without a care in the world that I wasn’t eating ‘breakfast’ food.
But the breakfast Bryce makes, while simple, is exactly how I would want it to be made.
The pancakes have the slight crunchy edge that I love and the bacon is at the exact right cook and my scrambled eggs aren’t too hard or too runny, because sometimes runny eggs make my stomach turn, and then I can’t eat them.
Bryce didn’t know any of this; he just made me breakfast, yet somehow I wouldn’t change a thing.
As he promised, after we eat, we put our dishes in the sink and Bryce takes me back home.