Monday you can fall apart

Chloe gets up at 7 in the morning and leaves for work 45 minutes later. Sometimes she wakes me, purposely or not, sometimes I join her for breakfast and we talk about nothing and the weather over coffee (and a little Bourbon). When she's in the shower I sometimes talk to mother, if she's home and awake.

Sometimes, after they've both left, I get back into bed and try to fall asleep again, just to distance myself from the constantly surfacing mental images: me as a child on a tall chair in the kitchen, my feet don't yet reach the floor. I read the business section of the Los Angeles Times without understanding much, just to make him proud of me.

He sits casually across the table, my father, and he smiles at me. In a few minutes he's taking me to school and this early morning ritual, the time we spend together, will be over. At least for now, I'd think, and there was always a tomorrow until suddenly there wasn't.

"No happy endings, Avy", he said.