Putting on my giraffe onesie that I haven't worn in years.
Then the TV show and asking Remington to feed me. I shouldn’t have done that. That’s not casual Daddy stuff. That’s relationship stuff, isn’t it? He didn't hesitate to agree and the food really was delicious.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I definitely remember settling down on the couch. Not in my bed. Did Remington carry me? I blush at that thought. I also hope I didn’t say anything in my sleep. Paul always said that I mumble in my sleep.
There’s a note on the dining room table and I stop to read it. I’m still in the onesie, but I’ve unzipped it and tied the armsaround my waist. The note is simple. It’s written on a torn off sheet from the notepad that I keep on the counter beside the fridge. Each page has a simple flower design in the corners and small stars randomly placed around the page. It’s no larger than sticky notes, but it looked pretty in the store. The notepad originally had a magnet on the back to stick on the fridge, but it since peeled off and I just leave it on the counter.
Remington’s handwriting is legible enough. He slants his letters to the right, telling me he’s a leftie. Which, if I think back hard enough, I’m sure I already knew that fact.
Thank you for tonight, Austin. I'm more than happy to do this again. Call me any time. Sweet dreams.
The words leave me smiling alone in the house. Last night was definitely something I needed. I didn’t sink too far into Little space, but like Remington wrote, maybe we could keep doing this. At least every now and then. I went three years without much of anything, so a scene here and there would be better than nothing. I’m not entirely sure how similar in style Remington is from my Daddy as far as the Daddy-ing goes, but it’s worth a conversation at least. If he’s willing. I remember times he would join in my play, but hanging out and taking on the role of Daddy are two different things.
Looking away from the note and thinking about my Daddy, my fingertips trail the length of the tattoo on my body. It’s a solid black line, a quarter of an inch thick. It trails from the right side of my collarbone, down, and cuts across to my left hip. My smile widens as I remember everything that the tattoo represents. My Daddy was the best.
I move to the kitchen next and unlock my phone to text Remington. The coffee pot I have has a timer and he must have set it last night because there is a fresh pot waiting for me.
Austin
Thank you, Remi. And yes, maybe we can talk about it over dinner this weekend? If you’re not busy.
I don’t wait for a reply. If he’s sane, he’s still asleep. I pour my coffee in the thermos I use every single day— which Remington seems to have also cleaned from where I brought it in last night— and add a little sugar and way too much cream. I’m not a big coffee drinker, despite where I work, but the morning caffeine is necessary. Although I did sleep soundly for the first time in a while last night.
I might make myself a hot cocoa if the weather is chilly when I leave today.
It’s hitting seven when I finally walk out the door. We have to wear slip resistant shoes and black pants to work, but the shirt can be whatever we want. And today I’ve gone with a soft, blue t-shirt. The air is a bit windy so I have on my favorite black hoodie and green beanie. Does it all match? Not really. Do I care at seven AM? Also, not really.
By the time I get to the coffee shop a couple of miles into the heart of the city, the other guys are already there. The shop opens at eight and all I have to do for morning chores is open the registers.
“Smells heavenly in here,” I comment as I’m signing in the till at the coffee station. It’s Thursday, which means that there will be a group of at least twelve doctor-like people from the hospital two streets away coming in for their espressos and this-and-that's before a weekly meeting. I don’t knowif they are doctor’s or not, but they seem… doctorly. If that makes sense to anyone but myself. Jason has all of their orders memorized by now.
“I’m trying out a new recipe I saw last night. It’s essentially a hot chocolate packet, the powder mix kind, but instead of milk, you mix it with a shot of espresso first. Then you add whatever else you want.”
“I don’t know if that sounds good or not,” I say. I finish double counting the money from last night. I wasn’t exactly in the best of mindsets after my breakdown last —
Oh shit.
I forgot the koala. What if the kid comes back? I don’t want him to think it was taken. I’d tell him the truth and promise to bring it back. But the mom would probably think that’s weird, wouldn’t she? That I took her kid’s stuffie home?
I pull my phone out without thinking, shooting off another text to Remington. We’ve sent a couple of texts back and forth this morning so far, just general stuff about plans for the day and agreeing that he would make dinner at my place Friday. I already told him where the spare key is since I’ll be home later than he gets off work.
Austin
I forgot the kid’s koala at home. What if he comes back for it today?
“Who are you texting this early in the morning?” Jason asks half-sarcastically. He has one of our mugs in both his hands and sips on the drink. “Oh, that’s actually good. We might haveto add this to the Fall and Winter menus. Some cinnamon or something in it would be amazing.”
“Play around with it and I’ll bring it up to the owner in the next meeting,” I say with a smile. “As far as the text, it’s just a friend. And he has a meeting this morning so he was up early.”
I don’t know why I explain that much detail to Jason. Probably because I don’t usually have any life updates. I’ve really been going through day-by-day without much change in my schedule. Wake up, work, go home, watch some TV, read a book, shower, bed. My weekends, since the coffee chop is closed, are mostly cleaning the house, working in the yard, or visiting with my family. I used to go around to Paul's family but it became clear that I was fading into the background of their lives. After the last birthday party, where I sat at a table for the majority of the time listening to the others go on and on about different things, I realized that their lives had gone forward. I was still rehashing the same stories of Paul and myself. I stopped going to their get-togethers and they stopped inviting. It was mutual, I tell myself.
I decide to not make the moment awkward and continue talking, turning the conversation to the coffee shop. “I’m going to double check they have everything on the other side and then get some paperwork filed. If you need me for anything, just ring the bell okay?”
“Got it boss,” Jason says. He’s sipping on the Espresso Cocoa— that definitely has a ring to it for a menu item— as I turn to walk away. My phone buzzes in my pocket but I don’t pull it out until I’m alone in the office again.
Remington
I’ll run over and grab it and bring it to you. My meeting is a couple of blocks away from Shade Grown anyway. Is around nine-thirty okay?
