Yes, Sir

7.3

•- Laine Bennett -•

My night was full of exciting conversations and contagious laughter. I'd become hysterical by the early break of dawn and by the time I'd finally fallen asleep, the metaphorical rooster began to crow.

Despite the entertaining delight of having my two friends by me the entire night, I awoke with an aching pain throughout my body and a raging headache from sleep deprivation.

Brent had already been awake, that much was clear from the perfectly set table in front of me covered in breakfast foods that could fill all of Strangetown.

I stretch my body in all possible ways before kicking Mahalia who slept at the other end of the couch. She groaned loudly, making me kick her harder to awaken her from her dream enhanced slumber.

Brent carries over a divine looking bowl of mixed fruit and places the ceramic filled dish into his coffee table.

"Hails, I made you food."

Her head lifts from the pillow and the blanket held tight to her body covers half of her face.

"What kind of food?" She says behind the thin material. Despite the quality of her quilted blanket, her voice came out muffled and nearly inaudible, but Brent managed to piece together her words before pointing behind him to the perfect set meal.

"Everything your cold, dead heart could ever desire."

I was sure Brent would make for a good father. He had a prenatal way about him, and although his childish conversing with Mahalia was strictly for humor, he gave off the energy of fatherhood. I could see him living in a townhouse in the better side of Brooklyn with a wife and two kids.

Not wanting to wait for the two's conversation to conclude, I indulge myself in a meal worth my time and energy. I piled a little of everything onto a plate and sunk to the floor to eat. Mahalia, after little convincing, collapsed beside me and did the same.

We devoured our food in silence and once the seconds of eating such a joyous meal had dwindled to nothing, I thank Brent for supplying both food and entertainment throughout the night. Hospitality was a skill not blessed to many, but Brent was a fair receiver of such a gift.

"Don't mention it," he replies with a mouthful of seasonal fruit, "You two ever want to stay the night again, I'm buying matching pajamas."

To his joke we all laugh and Mahalia and I help ourselves to seconds. By the end of the morning we'd helped him clean and we redressed after having spent the night in Brent's baggy clothes that hardly fit our bodies. He was a small guy compared to most, and Mahalia was nearly as tall as him, but alas, male clothes not fitted to size would never mold to our feminine bodies.

I had texted Austin to come get me like I was a child waiting for their parent to arrive, and this alone made me feel humored at the mere thought of Austin Wood as a father. Should we find ourselves in that position, in the far, far future, I can only see him as the type of man to attend to his children's every need until they are given what they deserve.

Brent and Mahalia waited downstairs and before long the unmistakeable Tesla pulled into view. I expected him to stay in the car and wait for me to say my final goodbyes, but he exits the vehicle with a cardboard container holding mugs wrapped in the protective shield from the heated interior.

He quickly presses his lips to my temple before pulling cups individually from the container and handing each beverage to each of us.

"I might not understand the concept of 'sleepovers' but I was well aware you three musketeers would hardly sleep last night."