She woke and found him gone.  She cleared the gunk from her eyes and stared out the window at the gray day outside, the kind of day that never cleared up, but never rained.  She stretched and looked around the room, tidy, minimal, nice big windows.  And high off the ground.  She suspected that the view was great on clear days.  

Though she did not fully recall what happened here or how she got here, mostly, or the name of the man whose apartment this was, her clothes were still on which told her that she was, in the very least, not a complete tramp the night before.  That was always a nice thing to discover.  She hated the alternative.  She rolled on her back and felt something dig into her spine, realized that she still had her bra on, and sat up.  I guess I was better than I suspected, she thought.  Upon sitting up, her head swam and he consciousness swayed, found a handhold, and righted itself.  

“Whoa,” she whispered ad rubbed her face.  Today was going to be an interesting one.  Before she could deal with the impending misery this afternoon held and all the ‘cuddled under a blanket half-comatose on the couch’ness of it all, she had to figure out how to get home.  But more importantly than that, she had to pee which meant finding the bathroom.  She had never been a fan of peeing in her pants or the bed and she had no intention of starting now.  She stood, buckled her pants, and stumbled across the room, passing the alarm clock on the dresser which yelled “9:15” at her in angry red letters.  She hated alarm clocks, so fucking smug.

Out in the hall, just next to the bedroom door, she found the bathroom.  She flipped the light switch and instantly regretted it.  The bright bathroom lights blinded her, sending a searing shock through her head.  Reflexively she covered her eyes until the light sensitivity passed.  She removed her hand from her eyes slowly, careful not to shock herself with the light again.  She opened one eye, then the other, and finally got a good look at herself.  She looked awful.  Dark bags under her eyes played harmony to her tousled hair and disgusting, foul mouth.  She picked up his toothpaste, spread some on her finger, wet it, and shoved it into her mouth.  As she scrubbed her teeth, she dug through his drawers with absentminded nosiness.  He kept the little bathroom fairly tidy for a boy.  There were no pubes on the floor.  She was not sure she could have handled a pubic hair dust bunny half hidden by the toilet so she was glad for that.  But it was not so clean that she might have worried.  Two points for him on the bathroom so far.  Under the sink she found some mouth wash and gave her mouth a good rinse.  She did what she could with her hair and stepped out of the bathroom.

From the end of the hall where she stood she could see him sitting at the kitchen table, eyes closed, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of something.  She hoped for coffee.  She walked as lightly as she could down the hall into the kitchen and sat across from him at the little table.

“Is there more coffee?” she asked.

“Hmmm?” he replied without opening his eyes.

“Coffee?  More of it?  Is there?”

He opened his eyes.  Bloodshot as they were, she felt like she could take a swim in the crystal blue.  “Yeah.  I made some extra.  Do you want some?”

“Yes please.”

He stood and walked over to the cabinet above the sink and pulled down a mug with a drawing of a puppy on it.  “Milk and sugar?”

“Half and half?”

“Just regular milk.  Sorry.”

“Milk is fine.”  He fixed her a cup and brought it back over to the table and placed it in front of her, turning the handle so it was parallel to her.  “I like this mug.”


“The puppy is cute.”

“Oh,” he said and laughed.  “My mom sent that to me.  I didn’t mean to give you that one.  I don’t usually bust out the puppy mug on the first date.”

“I like the puppy mug,” she said.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m going to be awful at about 2 o’clock, but for right now, I’m hanging in there.”

“I think we’re in the same boat.”

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.  It’s a little barren still.  I just moved in a month or so ago.”

“It needs a woman’s touch.”

“It needs something.”  They sipped their coffees in silence for a few moments.  “So….”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not even close.”

“Really?  I’m always so hungry in the morning.  Do you mind if I make something?”

“Go crazy.  There are eggs and things in the fridge, some bread in the drawer.  I think I have juice, but I’d give it a smell first.”  She got up and dug through the fridge, finding an onion, some eggs, cheddar cheese, scary orange juice that she decided could stay, and butter.

Setting about fixing herself some breakfast, she asked, “How do you like your eggs?  I like mine scrambled.”

“Depends.  Scrambled is good.”

“You sure you don’t want some?  There’s plenty of food here.”

“Maybe a little, but I really can’t eat after a night out.”

She nodded and went about her preparation, whistling a little.

“Ok,” he said, “this is going to sound like a super douchey thing to say, and you’ll have to forgive me in advance, but what’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Let’s just say that my memory of last night clicks in and out a little.”

“Samantha.  Sam.”


“Ah, good name.  I’m glad you asked first.  I was wondering how I was going to figure it out sneakily,” she said and kept cooking musically.