The Morning After
The kitchen was quiet at six in the morning and I stood at the counter with a glass of water and watched the city come into focus through the window and told myself I had slept fine.
I had not slept fine.
The ultrasound had been in my head all night in the particular way of things you cannot think around — appearing every time I got close to actual sleep, pulling me back. Lucas's face when he had taken it from Alexander. The nod he had given me in the doorway. The second paper I still hadn't seen.
I heard footsteps and turned.
Lucas came into the kitchen in a fresh shirt, looking considerably more functional than he had twelve hours ago. He stopped when he saw me.
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Was there a problem with the bed?"
"No. It's just a new place.
