The Next Morning

She sat at the table, looking into her coffee.  It was a light brown.  A beige.  Two scoops of sugar, three dollops of cream.  That was how he'd made it for her.

She sat there, looking into the coffee, hearing the ticking of the clock on the wall of the kitchen.  It was a soft, but gentle, tick.  No digital clocks in this household.  She'd been here enough times to know that.

She sat at the table, and on impulse drew the robe around herself.  It was a soft, white robe, made of linen and cotton.  Easy on the skin.  It certainly wasn't HIS robe.  HE wore a dark gray robe made of wool.  She didn't know where this robe came from.  Whose it was.  But she could guess.

She sat at the table, looking into her coffee.  He'd made it.  He'd made her coffee.  He hadn't made her breakfast.

Suddenly he came into the kitchen, tying his necktie without looking.  He was very good at tying a necktie.  More than once she'd volunteered to do it, when they'd met.  But he'd always insisted on doing it himself.  "I've gotta go," he said.  "I'm late for work."

"O... Okay," she said, watching him as he moved through her midst.

"I Venmo'd you some money for the Uber," he said.  "The bathroom's clean, you can use it before you go."  He grabbed his car keys and moved for the garage.

"Can we..."

He stopped.  He paused.  He glanced over his shoulder.

"Can we maybe..." she squeaked.  Her voice sounded very small.  "Can we maybe... get dinner?  Tonight?  You and me?"

He made a face that broke her heart.

"I'm late for work," he said.  "We'll talk later."

With that he finished tying his tie, and headed for the door to the garage.  He opened it, and shut it behind him.

She could hear the engine starting, distantly.  It seemed much further away than it was.  Everything seemed far away right now.  The sunshine coming through the windows.  The taste of the coffee on her tongue.  The ticking, ticking, ticking of that damned clock.  It all seemed far away, right now.

Far away from her.  She was all by herself.