I watched the water stream down the pane, wondering how many more nights I could pace this room before my knees gave out.
At seven, the coffee maker began to drip, its bitter scent cutting through the heavy air of the downstairs hallway.
Ryan sat at the kitchen table, his thumb flicking rapidly across his phone screen while his breakfast plate sat empty beside him. He had already dressed in his blue button-down shirt, though his collar was still unbuttoned.
“Do you want me to scramble some eggs?” I asked, lifting the glass pot to pour his coffee.
“Just the coffee is fine,” he said, not looking up from the blue light of the screen. “The guys are texting in the group chat.”
I set his mug down, watching a small splash of dark liquid jump over the rim and pool on the white ceramic.
“Which group chat?” I asked.
“The high school crew,” Ryan said, his thumb stopping for a second. “They are talking about getting a weekend together before the weather turns.”
I stared at the back of his head, waiting for him to tell me he had told them he was too busy with three infants.
