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Monday, May 17

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     Reese woke up on Monday around 8am, his standard time for a first period that began at 8:45. His parents used to occasionally chastise him when he was younger about not getting up earlier to shower in the mornings. But he would usually bite back, citing how ‘the average American teenager doesn’t get enough sleep’ and then list off his friends who never showered in the mornings and always smelled fine. It was just one out of hundreds of disagreements he had with them, most of which were related in one way or another to their parenting style. They all played a part in cultivating a tiresome back-and-forth relationship for most of the last several years. Reese was a teen, and everyone his age was moody and a bit of a bother. But always nitpicking and finding a problem with nearly everything his parents said or did wore down on their relationship over the years more than just being angsty once in a while. At least, that's what he thought, that was his worldview. Maybe they weren't strong enough as parents, but it seemed there were times they just opted to not talk to him because it would be easier in these last few years living together. You can cut a friend off who's a nuissance, but you're stuck with family. He was conscious of the strain they had, so when he decided to start acting better for his possible future as a non-graduate, he thought that maybe it was for the better anyways. If they had told me to start acting up, I probably wouldn't have. I hate that. Seems I only want to do things if I want to do things. As he trotted down the stairs that morning, glancing at his dad reading the news on his iPad, he was thankful that ever since he started trying to be nicer around the house, his lack of morning showers weren't an issue that had resurfaced. Maybe it’s because of how well I've been acting that they don’t bother to argue with it, he wondered. Or maybe it's just easier to not have to talk to me.

      The house groaned slightly, its decades of use evident, as the slow stomping of someone upstairs could be heard. What are the odds that that isn’t Olivia, and mom is just mad for whatever reason? As the sound made its way down the stairs, Reese saw he was right; his six and a half foot sister nearly bumped into him, her eyes still fluttering as they adjusted to the kitchen lights. She was wearing a loose yellow tank top and black sweats, with socks warming her feet. And major bedhead.

     “Oh!” she exclaimed, the corners of her lips curled in a smile. “Sorry.” Her mind flashed back to all the times she would bump into kids over the years because of her height, or whenever she ran into someone just from looking straight ahead and not even seeing them. Her little brother was barely any different. He was as tall as someone in elementary school, and it had been awhile since she had had a reason to be around kids of that age.

     Olivia let out a big sigh as she scanned the counter tops while Reese got a bowl out of the cupboards.

     “Do you not drink coffee in the morning?” she asked, not seeing a pot lying around.

     “Do you not eat some actual food before injecting caffeine in your system?” he retorted, annoyingly sassy. Olivia rolled her eyes and intentionally bumped into his shoulder as she walked past him. Reese was barely able to hold his ground, literally.

     Their dad sighed at his children’s bickering. “I normally just stop by Starbucks on my way to the office since the people there can have it ready to go ahead of time. Or sometimes if I’m in a rush I’ll just grab a cup when I get there since someone always starts a brew in the morning.”

     Olivia scrunched her face at the idea of home brewed coffee. “Ugh, office coffee is blegh. Coffee’s like the one food that isn’t better made at home, by normal people.”

     “How would you know what office coffee tastes like?” Stuart asked. “And it isn’t bad done at home, you just don’t know how to do it well. Or your beans aren’t very good. The barista industry isn't very exclusive,” he chuckled.

     “Why are you trashing home cooked coffee if you just asked us if we had made any?” Reese asked his sister. 

     “Well obviously I’m not going to a coffee shop right after I wake up. Especially on my first day of my summer. Also, you don’t cook coffee. You brew it.” She had searched all the bottom cabinets and couldn’t seem to find it. “Reese, where’s the espresso machine?”

     “In the cabinet,” he said simply, put off by the idea that she couldn’t find it herself. And by her pedantic correctiveness.

     “I know, but I looked in all of them, I obviously can’t find it,” she said, an edge to her voice. Stuart looked over to his kids, a tired look on his face, but not from any lack of sleep. Reese had seemed to have a pretty good behavior lately, like he was finally matured. They hadn't been arguing as much over trivial things. But now with Olivia back that seemed to have regressed. Reese saw the expression on his dad’s face and could tell what he was thinking.

     He took a deep breath. “Here, sorry,” he said, pushing past a hunched over Olivia, “it’s tucked away in the corner sometimes.” He reached his hand into the furthest right cabinet below the left side of countertops, into storage space that was twice as big as the other cabinets since it extended into the corner of the room. Back there was what Olivia was searching for, and he grabbed it, bringing it up to her. He looked up into her kind eyes, and spoke just as she was opening her mouth to do the same. “I can make you and dad a cup,” he said, just as her hands had taken ahold of the machine. 

     Olivia tilted her head. “You just said you didn’t drink coffee,” she replied.

     Even when I try to be nice, Reese thought. “OK, fine, you can make it,” he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned back to his cereal. 

     “No, I just was confused,” Olivia said, and reached out her arm to try and grab Reese’s shoulder, stepping forward just as he turned around. She almost bumped into him again, but his head darted back a few inches to quickly dodge from colliding with her imposing chest. Still no bra on, he noticed. But she was just sleeping I guess. He swallowed, and looked up at her face, the decision for eye contact difficult. There could be a big, throbbing dick right in front of my face, I’d still be tempted to look, he thought. And I’m not gay. It would just be big, they're just big. And right. There. 

     “Sorry,” Olivia said with a smile. “Can you please make me a cup of coffee?” she asked, and placed the machine back in front of her brother.

     “And me,” Stuart chimed in. “Since you offered.”

     Reese exhaled, but not quite with annoyance, as he took the item from Olivia’s hands. “Yeah, no problem.” He plugged it in and placed it on the counter, and with a bit of diluted theatricality to his voice, added, “Two cups of coffee, coming up.”