Short Story: The Red Mug

Photo by Vinícius Estevão: https://www.pexels.com/photo/selective-focus-photography-red-cup-of-coffee-2113129/

The sun beamed brilliantly through the bedroom window. Clarissa woke up well before the sun rise, but she lingered in bed. She propped herself up with an elbow so she could appreciate John a little longer. He had to be the soundest sleeper she had ever met. She watched as his chest rose and fell in slow and steady breaths. The sun shone directly on his face like a spotlight. A nearly imperceptible snore came from John in response and Clarissa had to stifle a laugh.  Even with his arm flung out, his mouth open, a small trail of drool on the pillow, John looked handsome.

Clarissa swept a hand across his forehead, pushing back his sandy blond hair. Now she could see the wrinkles on his forehead, the creases near his eyes. She traced her thumb gently down his cheek, pausing at his full bottom lip. The longer she stared at him, the more she tried to memorize every feature, every line, every imperfection, every attraction. She didn’t want to wake him yet.

Weekends like these were fleeting. They tried—when they could, to meet in the middle—Denver, Chicago, New Orleans, Nashville.

Eventually, Clarissa tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Humming to herself, she made coffee. The song played over and over in her head from the night before. She couldn’t remember the name of it. She did remember John’s animated hand gestures as he spoke about it and the sparkle in his eyes when he played it for her. He had danced her around the kitchen, despite her two left feet.

“Good morning sunshine!” She grinned as John stepped into the kitchen with bleary eyes and messy hair.

“How long did I sleep? Jeeze, what year is it?” John held a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun coming through the large kitchen windows. John, like Clarissa, was an early riser. Except on vacation, Clarissa thought, with her.

Clarissa handed him the red heart-shaped mug of coffee—made just how he liked it with a splash of cream—and kissed his cheek. Clarissa brushed the hair out of his eyes again. He rested his cheek in her hand, eyes closed. He grew quiet, taking a long sip of coffee. John wrapped an arm around her waist. They drank their coffee in silence, watching the time pass outside, wishing it would slow down inside.

Clarissa took a deep inhale. “My promotion,” she started, pausing when she noticed John’s shoulders slump, his frown deepening. She tried to keep her voice even and unemotional. Her voice cracked anyway. “I’m moving to a new office.”

John closed his eyes and swallowed hard, bracing himself for bad news.

“It’s in New York,” she finally blurted out, unable to keep the secret any longer. She smiled through closed lips, her cheeks starting to hurt from how wide she grinned. “I start next month.”

John’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He stood motionless for a good while, blinking his eyes in rapid succession. Clarissa started to worry that she disappointed him. She set her coffee mug down, leaning against the table. Finally, John flung out his arms, his coffee mug sailing across the room. Clarissa couldn’t hear the splash of the coffee or the shatter of the mug.

John swept her into his arms, whooping loudly. He spun her around until she could barely stand, giddy and dizzy. He kissed her frantically, on her lips, on her cheeks, on her hands. He paused for air, taking her hands in his.

“You’re sure? New York? Really?” he asked, his voice bright, bouncing from one foot to the other.

Clarissa nodded with a laugh. “Looking for a roommate?”

Kay Zempel spends her days with her imaginary friends in the worlds that she’s created. When not writing, you can find her on her couch: trying to make a dent in her TBR, playing cozy games on her Switch, or snuggling her dog (and occasionally her husband). You can find her on socials as @kay_zempel_author, yapping on Threads or posting pics of her sourdough on Instagram, or here on her blog. Her paranormal romance Moon Dance is available now.