By Catarina Delgado
We open the blinds before the sun’s first whisper. The sky looks like a pool of ink waiting to drown whoever takes a moment to stare. We wake up slowly, bodies comfortable with closeness and warmth. Still in bed, Winter suggests having breakfast at the cafe down the street. I can’t describe my feelings for him. A clear meaning hides beneath my inability to describe our relationship, but I ignore it. This confusing feeling is the only one I know.
He goes to the bathroom first. I wait. Winter considers time more valuable than anything, so he never makes me wait too long. He quickly opens the door to reveal his signature unbrushed hair and young face. Winter touches my shoulder. I walk inside the yellow-tinted bathroom to examine my skin, ready to begin the process. My cheeks have a sunkissed glow. My dark circles are more evident than ever. I wonder if he cares. I return to the bedroom just in time to see Winter struggle with the buttons on his shirt. I put on the same clothes as yesterday. It’s just another improvised morning. Our outfits always match by accident. We never mention it and take it as a positive sign. The sky looks more friendly, so we grab what we need and leave the apartment. People start their day at different times, but this town has a constant number of early risers. Some are obsessed with running or coffee. Others are looking for special moments. We walk in silence.
I carry a small tote bag with a notebook and pen, and he carries a heavy backpack with his laptop. We walk inside the cafe, and I sit on a small round table in the corner of the café.
Winter asks me what I want.
Whatever you want, I tell him.
He hates my non-answer but offers me silence. I see him join the queue, hands in his pockets, thinking about something I believe I know. Did I annoy him? I ask myself. Probably. When I’m with someone else, I never know what to order. He returns with iced coffee and two croissants. I thank him. He nods. We spend the morning deep in our hobbies, quietly sipping the cold coffee and taking small bites from the croissants. We casually ask each other if the breakfast tastes good. I want to ask him if he wants to leave, to go home or somewhere else, and act like two people who are in love. The words never leave my lips. Winter is too cold to understand what I mean, anyway. Despite it all, I find his company to be comfortable. Necessary. I don’t know what life would be like without him. But I’m not sure if he thinks about me the same way.
Are all relationships like this? I ask him.
Like what? He answers.
We let the words meet the walls of a loud café. The answer is in the question. Winter would never understand. I’m not sure I understand. Still, we stay together, unable to move on.
* * *
Catarina Delgado is a writer from Setúbal, Portugal. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Eufeme Literary Magazine, NOVA em folha journal, Pigeon Review, Impostor Literary Journal and Wildscape Literay Journal. You can find her on Instagram: @catarina_delgado0