When he woke up well, I was happy.
It was supposed to be a day of homemade chicken noodle soup and rest. Tissues. Tea.
So, with a second wind, I came downstairs and prepared for breakfast. Oranges. I'd warm up scones. We'd make coffee.
Planning things in my head. Looking forward to the morning shuffle under morning light and that sleepy quiet that cushions the city on a Sunday.
But, before all of that, we had to get some provisions.
I retrieved our knit hats. The reusable bags. We made our way to the market.
Three dozen eggs. Four loaves of bread. Garlic. Ravioli from the pasta man. That was all. And, a pound of coffee. That was all.
Back at the car, he asked if I wanted to get a coffee.
It had been forever and a day since we'd gone to the coffee shop. Forever and a day.
I thought about the oranges that were sitting on the counter ready to be wedged. I thought about the scones and the coffee yet to be brewed.
Then I thought about chocolate croissants and coffee at the coffee shop. A nice change of pace.