Inspired by the Pintrist prompt: “Write what he said about the coffee”
“It’s cold.” He said it blandly, an observation rather than a complaint. It was a short sentence. A mere two words about a cup of coffee after a stony 16 hours of silence.
“Should I warm it for you?” I asked, careful to keep my tone as neutral as his own. As cool and uninterested as the white ceramic mug in his hand.
“Thanks, but there’s no need.” He replied, looking up from his computer. His voice softer, and layered as if there was more he wished to say.
“It’s no trouble.” I assured him gently, as I crossed the warn carpet to his desk where the old mug sat waiting by his hand.
This was as close to an apology as we ever got. Our fights were never hot and passionate like a fire, but instead cold and silent like a winter storm. Our resolutions were slow and anti-climatic like the coming of spring- a slow thaw followed by the nurturing warmth of the sun.
When I returned the steaming mug to him, he held my hand for a moment as I walked back to my own computer in the next room.
“Thank you.” This time, his voice was all warmth.
I smiled back and squeezed his hand in return. “You’re welcome.”
Bringing Mae Flowers 