I rolled over squinting my eyes against the sun that shone through the bedroom window. My face was warm, I loved it. The curtains whispered in a light breeze, telling me the secrets of my day. I knew I was, at least, one more long stretch away from leaving the bed, the cats concurred. 

Sleepy toes on Berber carpet.  Soft steps to cold tile. The slide of fabric and sweet relief. Diagonal shafts of light crisscross the hallway.  Every day should be so lovely.

Downstairs, no one is home. All of the doors and windows are open. It's full-on perfect, fucking, summer. 

I was here alone, but there was this beautiful breakfast laid out in the kitchen. Fresh coffee, buttered toast. Slices of fruit and slices of bacon. What was going on? Why was everything ready? Had I already been down here?  Did I do this? 

I knew it wasn't me for two reasons.  

No lemon, no melon.