the habit of being

I didn’t startle when he leaned over me in the dark and said “hey.” I opened my eyes and smiled and hugged him to me.

It took a minute to figure out that he wasn’t really supposed to be there. We were in my apartment, not his. It was the middle of the night. I hadn’t let him in.

“I went out tonight,” he said, though I could taste it on his breath. “I want you to come home with me. I want to make you coffee in the morning.”

“What time is it?” I asked, “I have to be at work at 9:30.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll take you. Come home with me.”

I rubbed my eyes and got out from under the covers, gathered up things to put in my bag - keys, phone, a dress for work. It took a long time because he kept interrupting me to give me another hug and to ask again if I’d come with him.

Of course I would. It was the third night in a row.