“Okay, Kalvin. Do you want to come to breakfast with me?” I huffed. It became clear to me he wanted to pick a fight, and I wasn’t willing to give him my energy. There were more pressing matters on my mind at the moment.
“Naw, I’m still hungover and tired. You can bring me something back. I want some bacon, eggs, fried potatoes if they have them, and some French toast.”
“Okay, I guess I can bring you some food when I come back. I’ll call you to confirm what they have.”
“No, I want my food before you eat.”
“What?”
I knew my face looked crazy because the audacity of his request blew my mind.
“Yeah, I don’t want my food to get cold while you’re out there eating. Go make my plate, bring it back to me, and then you can go and eat. I need my shit to be hot,” he grumbled.
I tried not to laugh in his face because he must have bumped his head hard last night.
“Yeah, it’s not gonna happen. There’s no way you think I’m going to wait in line, fix your plate, bring it all the way back to theroom, and then go all the way back and get back in the line to fix my own food.”
“I don’t see what the problem is. Why should I have to eat cold food if I don’t have to?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. The fact that he truly saw nothing wrong with his suggestion blew my mind, and I couldn’t believe we were really about to argue about breakfast.
“Kalvin, if you want your food hot, I would suggest you slide on your Crocs, throw on a shirt, and come get your own food. I’m on vacation the same way you are, and I’m not going to inconvenience myself for your ridiculous request,” I explained, wanting to add that he was a selfish, entitled asshole for even coming up with such a foolish plan.
“You mean to tell me if I were sick, you wouldn’t bring your man a plate? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. You aren’t sick. Whatever you’re feeling is nothing more than a consequence of your own actions. I’m sure there will be dozens of hungover people in those lines, and there’s no reason you can’t be right there with them.” I lifted my room key from the table and grabbed my phone. The faster I got out of the room, the better off I would be.
I rushed out of the room, making sure to send a message to China on my way out. She told me she was up earlier, but it often took her a long time to get ready. I wasn’t the type to wait on others when I wanted to do something, so I let her know she could meet me there when she was finished. There were quite a few people waiting for the elevator, so I put my earbuds in because it was too early for small talk with strangers.
The buttons on the elevators were much more complex than I thought, so it took me a little longer to get to my destination. When I finally made it, the delicious aroma of freshly cooked breakfast took over my senses. I loved breakfast. It was my favorite meal of the day. When I was home, I normally got uparound six in the morning, ran a mile, then came home and fixed some breakfast, accompanied by a cup of hot tea. Lavender chamomile was my favorite with several drops of raw honey.
I wondered if they would have any hot tea available, but I would be satisfied with a cup of orange juice as well. The lines were long, but they seemed to be moving quickly. There were two regular buffet lines and then a separate line for omelets. My stomach growled as I made a beeline for the first buffet line. There was a family directly in front of me, and the mother had a baby strapped to her chest while she tried to make plates for the two small kids next to her.
Based on her appearance alone, she seemed overwhelmed and frazzled. She appeared to be biracial with beautiful freckles, while her kids were extremely fair-skinned and could pass for Caucasian. The boys were completely unaware and unconcerned as they roughhoused in the line, and I could tell she was on the verge of snapping.
“Tevon, Declan, stop it. I’m not gonna tell you again,” she warned. They stopped for the moment, but the moment she turned back toward the buffet, they were at it again. The baby on her chest became fussy and started whimpering while she tried her best to fix the plates.
“Oh, there you guys are. I’m glad you’re already in line because I don’t feel like waiting.” A blond-haired, blue-eyed gentleman dressed in casual linen shorts tapped her on the shoulder. Her face was full of relief and hopefulness as she looked toward him.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here. Would you mind helping me make the boy’s plates? I can’t make the plates and tend to Gunner at the same time,” she requested. Instead of answering right away, he turned his attention toward the boys who were the spitting image of him. He smiled at them before focusing his attention back on the woman.
“You know I don’t make plates. That’s a woman’s job. I’m going to make myself some coffee. I want an omelet. When you’re done with your stuff, go over there and place my order. I want everything except bell peppers. Oh, ask them if they have pepper jack cheese too. If not, I’ll take American.” He walked off without saying another word, not even a thank you.
I wanted to cuss him out, and he wasn’t even my man. Normally, I would mind my business, but my spirit wouldn’t let me ignore her. I took a deep breath, praying she didn’t catch an attitude with me.
“Hey, I don’t mean to pry, but would you like some help?”
When she turned back to face me, I could tell she was on the verge of tears, but I wasn’t the overly emotional type, so I shut it down before she could even let the tears fall.
“Aht, aht. Don’t you dare cry in this line. You are okay, and I’m going to make sure of it. These boys can tell me what they want, and you can tend to the baby and fix your own plate,” I told her.
I leaned forward, removing the plates from her grip. Her hesitancy was expected, and I would have felt the same way.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense. I offered.”
We made our way down the line, and I asked the boys what they wanted as we went along. They were well-mannered when answering my questions and showed me each item they wanted on their plates. I tasked them with sliding their own plates down the countertop, allowing me the chance to hold my own plate. Once they were satisfied with what they had, I grabbed a tray that was by the silverware and loaded our plates onto it.
