Saturday Morning
664 Words
Renee – POV
I woke up next to Annavi—no dreams last night. She was still curled up, sleeping peacefully, and it made me smile. I decided to let her rest a little longer and head downstairs to make breakfast. I was in the mood for platano maduro.
But as usual, my mom had already beaten me to it. She was sipping her coffee at the kitchen table—black, two teaspoons of sugar. I poured myself a cup and added creamer. She gave me a warm smile as I kissed her head and sat across from her.
She asked about the field trip. I told her about the mummy that looked like me and almost spilled about the dreams, but stopped short. Instead, I showed her the picture. Her eyes widened.
"Dios mio," she whispered.
Just then, Annavi wandered into the kitchen, greeted us with a sleepy grin, and poured herself some coffee.
"Good morning, mija," my mom said to her. My heart warmed.
We'd been talking about converting Dad's old office into a room for Annavi. Her mom kept going on about how she couldn't wait until Annavi turned eighteen and could leave. It broke my heart, how someone could treat their daughter like that. Her birthday was on New Year’s Day. We didn’t have much time. My mom had picked out furniture already, and I had chosen the perfect shade of purple for the walls.
Jacob wanted her to move in with him, but his mom would never allow it—something about tradition and ungodliness. Really, I think she just couldn’t handle the idea of Jacob growing up.
Elena strutted into the kitchen, dramatic as always, wrapped in Mom’s fluffy widow robe with its oversized sleeves and feathered trim. Annavi burst out laughing.
"All hail Princess Elena," she declared.
"Yes, bow before me, peasant!" Elena chirped, before throwing her arms around Annavi in a hug.
Mom served breakfast—warm and golden and perfect. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Idris – POV
Morning came, but I was already awake. I couldn’t sleep after what I’d heard last night.
Maybe it was Grandma? I tried to come up with any reason, any excuse, but none of them made sense. The words "Hey, beautiful" still echoed in my ears.
I needed proof. I needed that phone.
I made my way downstairs to the sound of my mom humming in the kitchen. The smell of homemade waffles hit me and for a second, it was like everything was normal. I kissed her cheek, rolled up my sleeves, and helped.
We chatted. I told her about the field trip. She caught me up on office gossip. Apparently, one of the higher-ups had been fired for sleeping with his secretary. The company tried to keep it quiet, so naturally everyone already knew.
We laughed.
And then came his voice.
"You two having a good time?"
The tension snapped into place like a trap.
"If you’ve got time to laugh, you’ve got time to make my breakfast," he snapped.
My mom immediately shifted gears. "Of course. It’ll be ready soon, honey."
But I was done.
"If you’re that hungry, why don’t you come help instead of just sitting there complaining?"
He stood. His eyes locked on mine. Fury in every step. I didn’t back down.
Mom stepped between us before anything could happen. "He didn’t mean it. He’s just tired from the trip. You know how teens can be."
Her voice was bright and brittle. Trying to keep the peace.
He sneered. "You better teach that boy some respect."
"Respect is earned," I shot back. "You taught me that."
He froze.
Then turned and stormed out.
My mom cried. I held her while she wept.
The man who used to dance with her in the kitchen, who used to bring her flowers just because—he was gone. And this broken version of him was what remained.
We finished making breakfast.
But now, the silence lingered.
- Writer
