"Quite early."
"I agree."
"Yes, a little bit too early." I say with a deadpan stare.
Today's breakfast is a generous couple of jam and lemon tarts with a side of toasted bread. Maria's pampering has significantly grown on me and while I still love my mother very much, I can't deny that Maria's been spoiling me and I don't hate it. Even through my turbulent mornings, Maria powers me through the suffering of my unpredictable rollercoaster body.
But I always felt as though she knew. Yet, my fondness for her grows even more when she acts like she didn't watch me dry heave for half an hour in the early morning to only throw up some weird green substance. I am almost tempted to weep and kiss her feet with gratitude.
The porcelain cup clinks loudly as he sets it down and I feel an irritation prick in me for no solid reason, involuntarily clicking my tongue in disapproval. The person in front gives me a wary look at that but the irritation only grows.
