Taco Tuesday: Sunrise

A romance

It’s been a while since I did one of these. I feel bad as my partner in the challenge has been carrying on the whole time! But perhaps life will ease it’s grip and let me write again.

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They sing of first love, of the blushes and the warmth and the rising tide that sweeps all before it until they two are joined. The poets marvel at the glance that seals fates with a first glimpse of another soul meant to be. The stories all end with ‘happy ever after.’ 

That may be how it began, yes. But what of last love? 

***

She didn’t roll over when he eased into bed. As he settled down, though, she felt the heavy warmth of his hand on her hip, and she smiled into the dark. A few moments later as his breathing smoothed and steadied, it slid off, but the touch still counted. She crawled out from under the covers, shuffling on her slippers and reaching for her robe. 

The sun wasn’t up, but just as he hadn’t slept most of the night, she couldn’t sleep any longer into the morning. Too many aches and pains. It hurt to lay down too long. For that matter, it hurt to stand, or sit, or do most anything, too much. 

She didn’t turn on a light until the bedroom door closed behind her. He always said it wouldn’t wake him, but she didn’t want to find out the hard way it did, that once. Seeing him with hollow dark eyes on the sleepless days was hard enough without causing it. 

The day would be much the same as any other. One of their children would likely call and chat, they seemed to have set up a schedule to make sure their parents spoke to all of them regularly. She appreciated this, even from their free-spirit who struggled to maintain much else in life. It was a bright spot, that call, even when none of them really had anything to say. There wasn’t much news, and both of them had an unspoken agreement not to talk ailments and wailments with the children. The grandchildren were in touch more sporadically, and that more commonly by email or a chat app they had set up on her computer. She sometimes wondered if the great-grandchildren would bother at all when they were old enough. Or if the old people would still be there, slowly easing through the days, when that time came. 

It was too cold to take her tea out on the porch. She stood with the glass door closed, nursing the warmth of the mug in her hands, watching the sun rise. She got to do that most every day. Then she closed the door and turned to the routine of years. 

He woke a few hours later, and she heard his feet hit the floor. Getting out of her chair, she pushed the button on the coffeepot, and heard it gurgle. She couldn’t drink coffee any longer, not with her stomach, but she did appreciate the smell while she got it ready for him. 

His gray hair standing up in a wild shock, he shuffled through the door with a sleepy smile, and she met him for their morning kiss. One hand resting on his chest, over the deep red scar there, she looked into his eyes. He blinked at her, then winked. She relaxed. It would be a good day. 

“Good morning, my love.” 

“Yes it is.”