The eggs sizzled in the frying pan. The water came to a boil in the electric kettle. The kettle switched off. Sophie tightened her pony tail and took two plates from the cupboard. She poured the boiling water in to the French press, stirred it, and put the lid on. She dumped the scrambled eggs on to the plates, took the toast out of the stainless steel toaster, the kind with two slits, and called Josh for breakfast.
“Coming,” he shouted from the bathroom. He squeezed the last of his piss into the bowl and flushed. He looked in to the mirror, thought about his messy hair, splashed some water on his face, adjusted his shorts, flexed his bicep, and walked in to the living room.
The apartment was a small two bedroom. Melinda and Sophie had been living there for about six months. It was working out. They only had a few rules. Boys were only allowed to sleep over on weekends. No cigarettes only weed. And no Coldplay unless you have just been dumped.
“Music?” Josh asked. “Sure,” she said. Josh opened her laptop that sat on the coffee table. He scrolled through thousands of songs. He put on this sad, indy acoustic guitar stuff, The Albert Wright Band. “Nice,” she said. She felt a little sad. She usually felt a little sad after having sex. They had morning sex. It was good. Not overly passionate, not restrained but fun, relaxed, enjoyable. She didn’t climax.
She had been seeing Josh for a few weeks now. This was the fourth time they had slept together. But it was the first time he had stayed at her place. She liked him. She liked him enough to want to get to know him more. It wasn’t one of those things where your world comes to a screeching halt and you throw yourself into somebody else’s life. That had only happened to her once before. When she was twenty five. Three years ago. She didn’t expect it to happen again. She was at the stage of life where you have to grind out these connections. When the disappointments and frustrations of your early twenties have created protective barriers like mountains slowly built by a lava flow.
“Great coffee,” Josh piled some eggs on his toast. “Thanks, I get it at this place down the street. It’s expensive but everyone needs to splurge on something. Better this than shoes, cheaper,” she could her herself talking. She had that strange out of body sensation you get when you’re nervous. She thought she sounded stupid. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said with eggs in his mouth, “you have any ketchup?” She hated ketchup. Ketchup is the awkward silence of condiments, the thing you ask for when something is lacking. She got up and opened the fridge. The ketchup was on the shelf in the door. It was half empty. “Thanks,” he said and squirted it on his eggs. He was the type of guy who spread the ketchup over everything as apposed to making a little pile of it in the corner to dip. She didn’t like that. The way he ate reminded her of her dad, the loud chewing.
“I had fun last night,” she said. “Yeah, me too. The band was great. I love that venue. Dark, sweaty, low ceilings, good shit,” he sipped his coffee. “It’s a cool place, good vibes,” she said. “I had fun this morning too,” he smiled at her and put one hand on her upper thigh. She put her hand on his. She smiled at him. She took a bite of her toast. “So, I just wanted to ask, to tell you, I mean talk about, this. Us,” she said.
He put his fork down and took a sip of his coffee. He pulled his hand off her leg and wrapped both hands around his coffee mug. He stared in to his eggs. “Yeah, we should,” he said. They sat there. Each one waiting for the other to say something. A few seconds passed. “I like you,” she said, “I want to keep getting to know you.” He looked up at her. “Me too,” he said and reached to brush the hair out of her eyes. She pressed her face into his large, strong hand; she closed her eyes. It felt warm against her cheek.
