Halcyon

"I gasp at the first email that leaps out of my inbox. It takes my breath away; almost fells me at the knees. I am excited but unnerved as well. I stagger backwards, steadying myself on the kitchen counter. It was from Mathew, my first love. I hadn’t heard from him in over 20 years. What could he possibly want after all this time? I wonder.

            Five minutes earlier, I had dragged my work-weary body out of bed, stretching and yawning. I glanced over at Robert, still snoring next to me. I hadn’t bothered to give him a morning kiss but threw on my robe as I crept down the stairs, glancing out the window to the remains of a bruised night sky emerging into a grey early morning light. I had rushed to the kitchen to open my computer. These few moments of privacy at the start of my day were always my favourite. Fresca, my old brown Labrador, nestled into my leg.

            “Shoot! So much for me-time! You probably need to go outside for a wee?” I say to her as she wags her tail and snuggles closer to me in response.

            I open the latch of the back door and let Fresca into the garden. The cacophony of birdsong and the smell of honeysuckle stir my soul. I inhale its sweetness but am eager to head straight back to my computer now, undisturbed by Fresca’s demands. I switch on the coffee maker that I set up each night before I go to bed. It has been part of my routine to do this for what feels like eons.

            Both Robert and I have always had early starts to our workdays, though our days were filled with very different activities.  Robert worked in the shipyard when we first met, and I started as a psychologist, but eventually I became a full-time writer. Robert had also reinvented himself.

            After years of hard graft, he launched his own business as a contractor, which, prior the pandemic, had taken off and was going very well. We were okay financially and had both been happy then. He enjoyed his work, and I mine. Yet our worlds couldn’t be much more different, and lately that has jarred me. 

            We usually take it in turns to get the coffee ready, but he seems to have become detached from our family life recently, and these daily routines seem to fall only on me. I groan and slouch off the feelings of resentment. I put bread in the toaster for my 19-year-old daughter Phoebe and add the finishing touches to some overnight oats before putting it out on the counter for her and Robert. Once the coffee has percolated, I pour myself a cup and return to my computer eager to read this unexpected email. 

            I’m usually checking emails related to the script development business I have with my partner Lula, so this email from Mathew is a total surprise. When I read those first words, I sit down forcefully onto the kitchen chair. I barely hear the scraping sound as I thump down, tipping back the chair precariously, almost falling backwards.

            Whoa! I say aloud, pressing the flat of my hand against my chest as I take a deep breath. I find myself suspended between elation and unease – a strange blend of joy and disquiet. Of course, I’ve thought about Mathew over the years; he was my first love. But suddenly, he doesn’t feel like a ghost from my past anymore. He’s re-entered this world and unabashedly strolled right into my kitchen—into my present reality. I glance around; the familiar smells help to steady me, but excitement and a nervous fluttering rise so quickly that the kitchen begins to blur at the edges. 

            My forefinger hovers over the mouse. I’m almost ready to click open the email when Phoebe sashays into the kitchen, a piece of half-eaten toast in hand that she’s grabbed from the counter. She comes over to me and gives me a squeeze."