She sat down at the kitchen table and reached for the sugar. By some fashionable care for the environment and the third-world, she bought organic and fair-trade brown sugar. She had once read that brown nutrition (or was it nutrients?) was the healthier option. She enjoyed the sweetener, which once caused wars and wonders, in a happily self-deluded way, she thought mockingly.
Sleep is now gently dissipating, giving way to a sharp morning clarity. As she waited for the caffeine to kick in, her thoughts unraveled, repossessing reality. The drizzle outside brought back that night's dream. It was back in college. She bumped into him, Sam in the teashop where she used to buy her favourite hot chocolate. He used to tease her for it. It was a habit of theirs that they enjoyed repeating. He was distant though in her dream and his forehead wore that slight crease that always betrayed his anger. She couldn’t understand why: after all, he had stopped calling her, not the other way round.
The dream sliced through time. It stirred an ache she had spent years forgetting and convincing herself had never been there. She tried thinking of something else, glancing over the newspapers, stirring her coffee but like a toothache, the memory of Zach rolled back in waves. She always hated Monday mornings. Paul walked in and she was almost grateful for the disruption. He bent down to kiss her, absent-mindedly. She listened to him as he went about their narrow kitchen, reaching for the Weetabix and pouring the milk, adding the sugar to the mug of coffee she had poured for him. As he munched away, she heard the humming of the day waking to work, carrying that sense of grey familiar. Paul was lost in headlines.
She felt heavy. Or was it weary that she was feeling? She felt heavy, weary and old. Lately she had forgotten to get irritated. Paul found her softer, less touchy and, a sacrifice he was resigned to, slightly less eager in bed. She knew this. Breakfast was one of those intimate moments they shared, which made him think they were special. She was aware of this too and brushed it off like damp coat. He smiled at her. Something had snapped and she understood that morning, that very morning, that there was only one thing she cared for.
