My dad cuts strawberries in the morning for a Mother’s Day fruit salad he is preparing.
We talk about life and a bunch of things I’ve already forgotten, but wish I better remembered.
I always love our morning talks.
It makes me want to stay in the kitchen forever and put the rest of my day on hold.
My mom walks down the stairs, having slept as late as she wants.
I make her laugh by traipsing ahead in front of her, leading the way to the kitchen, pretending to by Igor from Young Frankenstein. My brother joins in.
We eat and share what Dad brought home from the bakery this morning.
I drink coffee. Everything is great. I must try a little piece of everything he’s bought.
Afterwards, we all separate. My parents take care of the dishes.
We let Mom get ready and go to Mass. It’s what she wants.
It’s raining and miserable.
I go for a walk while she’s out. It starts to rain. I decide to chance it.
As soon as I walk up the hill, the precipitation intensifies.
I press on, doing my usual four laps.
I come home with my windbreaker soaked, take off my clothes, and take a shower.
I wash my hair really good. I don’t think my dandruff will ever go away.
I eat leftover turkey chili and watch Iron Man 3 in my robe, procrastinating get dressed. When I eventually get around to it I put on sweats, sans bra. Sweatshirt reads ‘Ramapo’, pants, ‘Montclair’.
The rest of the day is spent in a kind of lazy contentedness.
Tomorrow I start a new internship. The anxiety suddenly catches up with me. I push it away.
Everything feels new and different. I can’t wait until it all feels normal again.