I feel like I’ve just barely closed my eyes when I hear my alarm going off.

That’s what happens when you don’t finish working until 1 a.m. I guess.

Alright. Let’s do this.

Running my hand over my face to wake myself up, I sit up slowly, slip off the bed, drag myself to the blackout curtains, and part them like the Red Sea. The morning light is still muted enough to be a gentle transition for my eyes, but I’d honestly rather not be swallowing sunshine at all, this early.

Well, get over it. Discipline or something.

I let out a slow sigh, but make the bed neatly enough, slip my shirt, sweats, and slippers on, and trudge my way to the kitchen for some coffee.

Cocoa is already in front of the percolator taking her own sweet time to pour half the sugar on planet earth into her 'World’s least annoying little sister' mug, and I feel myself falling back to sleep on my feet.

“The best part of waking up is Folgers…,” I mumble sing, and Cocoa rolls her eyes, sticking an apple slice in my mouth.

“Don’t be so dramatic. There are so many nice things in our life besides coffee.”

“Not in the morning though,” I mutter, removing the apple slice from my mouth so I can drink my joe. “There is nothing good about mornings and - why on earth are you cutting those onions into such big pieces-?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cocoa pouts in her baby voice, as she pauses at slicing the onions into 5 centimeter wedges, “Do I need to hide Nicky’s veggies from him now?”

“I don’t mind being able to see them but I’d like to be able to taste something other than onion in each bite,” I scold, bumping her out of the way with my shoulder so I can get to the cutting board.

Cocoa rolls her eyes, but throws her hands up dramatically.

“Fine, knock yourself out. Excuse me for trying to save you some tears.”

I ignore her and have the onions finished in 60 seconds before moving on to the cheese.

As I pan-fry the halloumi, Cocoa grinds handfuls of red and black pepper and braises quartered cherry tomatoes with enough honey to make the whole kitchen smell like a beehive.

“It’s a good thing Honey isn’t here, or she’d devour the tomatoes before we could eat any,” I laugh, and Cocoa nods, rolling her eyes.

“Honey and I are going to the store later though, so expect to find a serious shortage of bread when you get back from your book club-”

“Oh god!” I say out loud - and too loudly - before I can stop myself and Cocoa nearly jumps out of her skin, looking over at me quickly as I cover my mouth with the back of my hand.

“What?! what?! Did you cut yourself?”  She frets, and I shake my head, reddening as the embarrassment and worry wash over me.

“No. I just remembered that I invited Miss Walker to our book club.”

“Oh is that all,” Cocoa sighs with relief, and then brightening she smacks my shoulder playfully, “Well maybe you’ll get another chance to try to get to know her if she shows up. And you won’t have to deal with all the awkwardness of a real date.”

Haaah.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

But now I just know I’ll be introducing her to Austin and Ben, and the discomfort will be ten-fold if things go as badly as they did last night. The only saving grace of that catastrophe was that I wasn’t able to make a fool of myself, except for in front of the waiter, but that will be effectively go up in flames if Miss Walker actually comes.

But she probably won’t.

That shouldn’t be able to be a relief and a disappointment at the same time. Somehow it is, and they cancel each other out in a weird hopeful-worry combo.

I feel fidgety all over again and go through the rest of breakfast prep worried I’m going to cut off my fingers. By the time we sit down to our FH&J (Fried Halloumi and (tomato, left out of the acronym because Cocoa thinks it’s ugly) jam) sandwiches, I have developed a new phobia and I can’t even make myself focus.

This is fine. This is fine. I’ll just go for a walk or something to relax before the book club and if she does show up-

Not Dad’s ringer...

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, though I’m sure I already know what the text says, I pull up the message.

“I need you to cover things at the store today. I have to go into the office on short notice.”

Well…that…works too…I guess.

Cocoa is staring at me as I sling my cell onto the sofa cushions.

“Hot date?”

“Yeah, with a cash register. She’s really cute,” I shake my head, leaning my elbows on the table. And then I just give in to the exhaustion, drooping my head on my arms and letting out a long groan.

“You could say no.”

“No, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.”

No, I’ve already made a promise. To Grandpa and to Dad.

“I don’t…mind going," I smile a little wearily in an attempt to reassure her, but she just frowns.

I’m too tired to be very convincing.

“I’ll just have to cancel plans with Wayne,” I sigh, “We were supposed to hit the gym together this week…”

I’m sorry.

A part of my heart sinks at having to text him to cancel yet again.

He’s always understanding about Granddad but still, I hate being that person.

But which person do I hate being more? The one who cancels on his friends or the one who won’t be there for his loved ones when they’re in need?

Even if it means working 6 days a week…

This is fine. This is fine. I just have to work the 9 hours and then I’ll have the book club, and get to hang out with Austin and Ben-

-don’t…have to, I want to. I want to do this, for Dad and for Grandpa.

Cocoa looks like she’s lost her appetite, and I’m sure she’s thinking something Honey-ish but I’m grateful that she doesn’t say it.

“Why does Dad have to cancel?” she asks quietly after a minute, and I pause with my sandwich halfway to my mouth.

“Oh, he uh…has to go into the office on short notice.”

She nods slowly.

“What is Mom doing?”

“I didn’t ask that, Cocoa. Probably housework or doing something with one of her friends. It is the weekend.”

Cocoa glowers up at me, and I want to avoid the look, but I don’t, leaning forward seriously.

Please, don’t forget...

“I chose to do this, Nichole. My decision. I wanted to help Grandpa out so Dad won’t have to let the shop close or sell it.”

She stares at me for a long time, her eyes searching my face for some sign that I’m lying, but when she can’t find one, she just sighs, shaking her head at the table.

“If you say so. Do you want to take the car?”

I feel my posture relax, and smile naturally this time, grateful for her consideration.

We can love both the people we care for and the ones who care for us. I’m not allergic to give and take, despite what Honey will say…

“I can walk. It’ll just wake me up,” I laugh, “besides, we should be trying to walk more anyway. Remember that whole ‘going greenish’ pledge…”

“Yeah yeah,” she rolls her eyes, grabbing my plate as she pushes back her seat and heads to the sink, “I’ll walk to the Blitz with you then. I wanted to buy some cough drops anyway.”

“You know I could just bring them home after work,” I shake my head, following her to the sink and taking hold of the dishes before she can wash them.

“I know, but you want me to walk more. So I'm walking,” she tilts her head teasingly, resisting my attempt to take the dishes.

“The point is to save fuel. Food is fuel too. And it’s my dish day,” I frown.

“But I can wash them,” Cocoa argues.

“And deny me the pleasure of washing dishes? Goodness, the kids these days are so spoiled,” I scold as she relinquishes her hold on the plates and heads to the back of the house, throwing up her hands with that same exasperated gesture.

“Thank you!” I call after her.

“Don’t start,” she shakes her head disappearing into her room and shutting the door behind her as I plunge the dishes into the soapy water, laughing to myself.

It takes about 20 minutes to lock the house up and get to the store, but I’m…surprised…

Yeah. That's the word we’ll go with.

…To see that it’s already open when we arrive there. Cocoa is a less neutral feeling than surprised to see that Mom is also there, with a frown painted on her face that’s almost as aggressive as her fire engine red lipstick.

“You two don’t even wash your faces before going about in public?” Are the first words out of her mouth and I can’t help but cringe as I see the look on Cocoa’s face.

You never truly get used to this.

“Whatever, there are boxes outside that need to be brought in, so you would have gotten dirty anyway. Dominic, boxes. Cocoa, help your brother with the store.”