[8] We’ve Got All Night

I’m cracking eggs and buttering bread and peeling tangerines, keeping an eye on the timer. Coffee cake is in the oven. The air smells cinnamon sweet, with a hint of something or other burning on the bottom of the stove, who knows. DJ is in her robe, out of bed for the first time all day, and so we’re having breakfast for dinner. Her favorite meal. I’ll be surprised if she eats more than a bite or two and doesn’t just push the rest around the plate to make it look like her appetite has returned. It’s dark outside. But not late according to the clock. These deep November nights feel late no matter the hour, the year still in descent. Dark and getting darker. Late and getting later. But I stop it right there. Not time, actually, but the thought descending. No need to go there. Negative will find you. So will grim. No need to stir that toxic stew. And then the timer beeps and this time I reach out and do stop time, for a moment, pulling out the coffee cake—DJ’s recipe, the kitchen sweet with brown sugar cinnamon and DJ’s smile. She inhales deeply, gratefully, and so do I. Time slows down. I set the cake on the counter to cool and admire the dark brown streaks on the golden surface. In no hurry. We’ve got all night.