Breakfast at Eight
At 4:58 a.m., my sister pounded on my bedroom door and demanded breakfast.
Four minutes later, she was standing in my kitchen wearing my eight-hundred-dollar silk robe.
And before the sun came up, she would find out that I had arranged a surprise of my own.
“Coffee! Eggs! Toast!” Melissa shouted through the bedroom door. Three hard knocks with each word. “And make enough for everyone!”
Ezoic
I was sitting on the edge of my bed.
Fully dressed. Jeans. A gray sweater. My hair pulled back. My shoes already on.
I was staring at a pale strip of moonlight lying across the hardwood floor. Listening to the ocean through the window. Listening to my sister’s fist on my door.
Six hours earlier, my family had arrived at my beach house without warning.
Ezoic
Now my sister was treating me like a hotel employee.
“Breakfast is at eight,” I answered.
