Breakfast

Breakfast…

I had it all planned out. My date would come over for breakfast and be overwhelmed by my homecooked meal. I met him at work, he was tall athletic build chocolate skin, with a deep voice that sent my heart into overdrive when he said my name. We worked in different departments and did the obvious flirting in the hall. Overhearing him complain about not having good breakfast options I offered him mines, I wasn’t hungry anyway and of course this is my move. He returned my container with compliments and asked where he could get more so of course I extend the morning invite to my place for breakfast. We agreed that Saturday morning would be our date. Excited I went to local outdoor market after work and purchased all the top-notch ingredients for homemade French toast made of course with homemade bread along with sausage, bacon, free range eggs, fruits, orange juice, and favorite coffee.

I prepped by making the brioche bread first thing 5am Saturday morning. Perfectly baked; waffle maker out and heated, easy as pie; sausage and bacon cooked to perfection; coffee brewed; orange chilled. The weather was if I ordered it myself a nice 72 degrees, sun out, an exceptionally light breeze. I lived on the lower floor of an apartment complex that had patio entry points that utilized lattice border fences between the units. I prepared my patio set with white linen tablecloth and napkins, and I waited. My watch blinked 8:05am, we agreed upon 9:00am, so I am early. The coffee still warming I made myself a cup, 8:30am, I check the warmth of the food figuring he would appear exact at 8:55am because he always on time at work.

I check my makeup and hair, 9:05am, maybe he was caught up in some traffic. I make myself another cup of coffee and look out of my kitchen window weather still beautiful. At 9:25am I take the food to the patio table, still perfect but getting cold, and still no date. My next-door neighbor comes out unto his patio area. I barely look his way. Let’s just say we normally we exchange the head nod in acknowledgement but nothing more. He’s not a loud or intolerable neighbor; honestly, he’s quiet and considerate. Tall, Hispanic slim build, attractive, not my type but I can see why the other neighboring women are always speaking to him. I know nothing about him. As I play with the food in my plate I look at my watch again 9:50am, this is ridiculous – no phone call or text, nothing -suddenly I hear the chair counterclockwise to me dragging on the ground. I look across the table to see my neighbor take a seat. He nods, I nod. He looks at the plate and reaches for the syrup. We eat in utter complete silence, enjoying the great weather, good food, my neighbor drinks the last of his juice wipes his mouth, stands up pushes his chair back in, nods, and leaves.

Monday morning at my desk I reminisce over my breakfast date with my neighbor. It was nice, his presence was calming almost soothing, he ate everything I prepared, was a gentleman and absolutely no words were spoken between us. It was great. By lunchtime, my co-worker was offering apologies and flimsy excuses. I didn’t pay him any mind. Saturday mornings became the days I looked forward to. Over the course of 6 weeks I prepped and planned breakfast for my neighbor and me. Each Saturday morning at 9:00am exactly he appeared ready to eat, no words necessary, simply great company and appreciation of great food. The routine became ritual until one Sunday afternoon there was a knock at my patio door. I stopped reading my book, walk over to open my door to be greeted with a beautiful lunch set up. My neighbor has surprised me with corned beef on onion roll, light mustard, pickle on the side, chips, and root beer pop. He has even setup the table with greyish linen tablecloths with darken grey napkins, very modern, very chic. The luncheon was a delight, we carried on the same as Saturday breakfast-no speaking, enjoying each other’s company. When we were done we nodded at each other, I got up from my seat and re-entered my apartment. The Saturday – Sunday mealtimes went on for another month, weather on each day was appropriate for outdoor eating, and each meal was created as if we knew each other tastes for years. Every meal homecooked, from scratch, each one different than the next; every week the weekend became the time period to look forward to anew.

By this point I am fixated on the weekend breakfast and lunch. My friends aware of my standing date situation, jealous and curious, inquire as to who my neighbor is. I don’t know. I don’t know his name, what he does, how old he is, and it doesn’t even matter. I am in the glow of enjoying the company of a nice man and good food. I do know some things that matter at this time, he is left-handed, likes spicy foods and sweets, he knows how to pare the right drink with the meals we eat, he’s punctual and apparently he knows how to cook and shop. These things are vital to know for our engagements. Nothing else matters at this time and I am in no rush to find out more. The days are getting shorter and crisp, the hot nights are cooling, and my appetite turns toward heavier foods.

Out of nowhere on a Wednesday night there is a buzz at my apartment door. Hello? I have a food delivery for apartment A4. Sorry I made no order for food delivery, you have the wrong apartment. Apologies ma’am but it says A4 on the receipt. It must be a mistake. Well the restaurant said the customer who ordered it says A4 is the correct apartment and building. Confused I go to the entry way to retrieve the order. At the doorway I see my neighbor holding the bag food. He steps toward me and says “hello, my name is Juan, and it would be my pleasure if you would have dinner with me tonight”. Stunned because I am hearing his voice for the first time, I fix my cardigan around me, adjust my hair, the aroma of the food hits my stomach and I reply “hi my name is” “Nikki” we say simultaneously. He knows my name. I laugh and accept his invitation. We walk back to my apartment, smiling at each other, anticipating the meal we were about to enjoy.

Saturday morning came, breakfast was inside because the chill was too strong, but the coffee was butter rum and pancakes the right amount of fluffy. Sunday afternoon, the cheddar soup consistency smooth and the French bread I cooked was a perfect match. We carryout our meals in deep conversation, fun egging on, jokes, and developing friendship. Our weekly dinners are now shared together, we decide our meal choices together, we shop at the outdoor markets and spice shops. We have even taken a cooking class because we wanted to try oriental foods homemade. Juan and I have spent the entire year enjoying each other’s company. We have not moved in together, we have not coupled up as people do, we have slowly grown into something I did not anticipate or looked for, a beautiful tasteful friendship.

nikki