Rough Morning

David stood in the kitchen at seven in the morning, performing what he privately considered a masterclass in efficient breakfast assembly.

Two slices of bread were balanced in the toaster. Coffee dripped steadily into his travel mug. A banana rested beside his plate, already halfway peeled like it had surrendered to the inevitability of being eaten during his commute. The morning news murmured from the small television mounted under the cabinet, the anchor talking about traffic delays on a bridge David never used but found himself mildly concerned about anyway.

He checked the time on the microwave. He had exactly eleven minutes before he needed to leave for the bus.

For most of Evan's life, David had been the one doing the driving. School drop-offs, swimming lessons, awkward teenage social events where he pretended not to notice Evan climbing out of the car as quickly as humanly possible. But while he had been the driver, the car had technically belonged to Evan. Well, Evan and Stacy, now that they were married. And with Evan now an adult, it wasn't really appropriate for David to take the car without permission. And so the bus had become his chariot.

Not that he minded too much. The bus wasn't bad. Yes, it was crowded, but the commute had allowed David to rediscover the joy of reading, find many new podcasts, and had gotten quite good at crosswords.

He took a sip of coffee and nodded approvingly. Good strength. Solid start to the day.

He sat at the kitchen table and began working through his toast with efficient, economical bites. He had just finished the first slice when footsteps dragged down the hallway.

Evan shuffled into the kitchen.

David glanced up and nearly paused mid-chew.

His son looked like he had been personally wronged by the concept of sleep. His hair stuck up at angles that suggested either a wind tunnel or a mild electrical incident. His eyes were half-lidded, and his posture had the loose, uncertain sway of someone whose brain had not yet fully reconnected with gravity.

"Morning," David said.

Evan made a noise that could generously be interpreted as acknowledgement and staggered toward the coffee machine with the grim determination of a man crossing a desert toward an oasis.

David watched him pour coffee with the intense concentration usually reserved for defusing explosives.

Interesting.

Before David could comment, another set of footsteps approached. Softer, slower, but equally exhausted.

Stacy entered the kitchen.

She wore satin pajama shorts and a loose camisole, her blonde hair was piled into a messy bun that leaned slightly to one side giving her a disheveled, thrown-together look. Her makeup-free face still managed to look effortlessly stunning, which David privately suspected was some kind of unfair evolutionary advantage, but for a woman who normally curated her image more precisely, this was a surprise.

She also looked completely wiped out.

She and Evan exchanged a brief glance. Not hostile. Not affectionate. Just... tired. Monumentally tired. Neither of them spoke.

Stacy moved to the cupboard, retrieved a mug, and poured coffee. Evan stepped aside automatically to give her room, the choreography of a couple who were used to navigating shared kitchen space.

David chewed thoughtfully, watching the silent ballet unfold.

Normally, if he saw the two of them looking this wrecked, it meant one thing: celebration. The house had fairly thin walls, and while David made a point of respecting their privacy, he was not deaf. Evan and Stacy had never exactly been subtle about how much they enjoyed being married.

David felt a small swell of paternal pride at the thought. Somehow his son had landed a woman who looked like she should have been on magazine covers or starring in perfume commercials. And not just landed her, built a life with her. At nineteen, no less. It was frankly impressive.

But that morning, something felt off. David buttered his second slice of toast and glanced between them. They stood on opposite sides of the counter, both sipping coffee like it was medicinal. Their silence had a different texture than usual. Less comfortable. More cautious.

He thought back to the previous night. He had gotten up around two in the morning to use the washroom and had heard movement coming from the spare room. Restless movement. Sheets shifting. Someone pacing quietly.

Evan.

Which was odd, because Evan and Stacy almost always slept in the master bedroom together. David could not remember the last time he'd heard Evan in the spare room overnight.

Sleeping apart? That was new.

Still, relationships had phases. Stress happened. Work, school, life, they all piled up. And if there was one couple David had absolute confidence in, it was those two. They were practically famous among their friends and family for how solid they were.

Even his ex-wife asked about them constantly. It was one of the only topics she seemed genuinely interested in discussing with him anymore.

"How's Stacy doing?" she would ask during the occasional logistical phone call about paperwork or shared assets. "Are things still good between her and Evan?"

She never asked how David was doing. Which, fair enough, he supposed.

He took another sip of coffee, watching as Evan leaned against the counter like standing upright required active negotiation. Stacy stared into her mug as though hoping caffeine might materialize faster if she intimidated it.

They'd work it out.

There was no problem a couple like Evan and Stacy couldn't solve. They were almost annoyingly good together.

David felt his thoughts drift briefly to the previous afternoon. Stacy had been at the stove, stirring something that smelled expensive and complicated, while he’d stepped into the kitchen after work.

"Hi, babe," she had called automatically, without looking up. "How was work?"

He had paused halfway across the room.

"Babe?" he had said. "That's new."

Her hand had stilled mid-stir. She’d turned, frowning at him like he’d just spoken another language.

"What are you talking about? I always..."

She had trailed off when she saw the look on his face. He hadn’t been upset. Mostly just confused. It had felt like watching someone confidently insist the sky was green.

"Honest mistake," he had said after a moment, giving a casual shrug. "You probably thought I was Evan."

She had stared at him for half a second longer than normal, then shaken it off and gone back to cooking.

David smiled faintly at the memory now as he buttered his toast. Brain fart, he decided. Perfectly normal. The house ran on routine and repetition. She called Evan that word about a thousand times a day. Bound to misfire eventually.

Still...

He allowed himself a brief, amused snort.

She was a beautiful woman. Anyone with functioning eyesight could confirm that. But the idea of Stacy ever being interested in someone like him in that way was so astronomically unlikely it barely qualified as a thought. She was vibrant, sharp, charismatic. David liked to think he had his strengths, but he was also a middle-aged man who didn't even own his own car.

Different leagues entirely.

He rinsed his plate and checked the time again. Bus in four minutes. He grabbed his travel mug and his briefcase, pausing by the table as he shrugged into his jacket. Evan and Stacy still stood at the counter, drinking coffee in synchronized, miserable silence.

David smiled warmly.

"You two kids look like you survived a war," he said lightly. "Try to get some rest tonight, okay?"

Stacy gave a small, distracted nod. Evan muttered something that might have been "yeah."

David headed toward the front door, slipping on his shoes.

"Have a good day at school, Ev," he called.

"Mm-hm."

"And Stacy, try not to let him live entirely on caffeine."

She just stared at him, blank-faced.

David opened the door, letting in a gust of crisp morning air. He paused on the threshold, glancing back once more at the pair of them standing in the kitchen together, exhausted but side by side.

They'd be fine.

They were always fine.

He stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him, and started down the walkway toward the bus stop, sipping his coffee and mentally preparing himself for a meeting that absolutely should have been an email.