Tilly woke up in the morning, and found Riley working in his office. It didn't appear he had gone to sleep the previous night. Riley was wearing the same clothing, and his hair which usually held a fresh sheen was dull from lack of a shower. Instead of looking ragged, Riley paradoxically looked the most energized she had seen him in their short relationship.
Riley had been awake all night but was not tired. His creative constipation had passed, allowing that creative energy to flow without obstruction. The desk space surrounding the keyboard was covered in microwavable food containers and a napkin stained with coffee from the mug resting on it.
Tilly wanted to give him a morning greeting but decided not to unintentionally destroy his train of thought. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot and spit the coffee back into the cup. It tasted like he had rerun water through the same grounds more than once.
"Good morning," Riley said from behind her, and she instinctually stepped out of his way, but accidently stepped into him. "Sorry."
"Getting work done?" Tilly asked.
"One hundred and eleven pages, still going," Riley said as he refilled his cup. He placed a stack of papers next to the coffee pot. He took a large gulp, then poured the same amount back in. Tilly was deeply shocked at his low standard for caffeinated beverages.
"You were working when I got home, have you been going at it all night?" Tilly asked.
"When it hits you, it hits you," Riley replied, and prepared another instant meal.
"I can cook you something. Call it part of my rent," Tilly offered, but Riley politely declined. "When was the last time you cooked?"
"Long time ago. My wife didn't cook, and I never learned. Old habits from my sixteen-hour workdays as a welder. Never had the time," Riley explained. He started the timer on the microwave and watched his meal do circles for a moment.
It was mildly amusing to Tilly how often he brought up the fact he was once a welder. As if he felt a need to keep himself grounded, and not let his success get to his head. A badge he wore to let people know he was still at his core, a struggling tradesman.
"You have time now. Of course, when you're done doing your thing, I'm not saying what you're doing right now is nothing..." Tilly stammered, catching her tone and trying to walk back her initial comment.
"I make shit up for a living, no offense taken," Riley said with a grin, and she slowly smiled back. He turned around and canceled the meal. "How do I not mess up hard-boiled eggs. Let's start super basic."
"Let's start with coffee. What in the holy hell is this?" Tilly asked, holding her cup to his eyelevel.
"You too?" Riley asked.
"So, you've been told already?" Tilly asked playfully.
Riley quietly admired how well she was handling recent events. He knew what she was displaying to him, was not how she truly felt emotionally. Howie was a little guy, but his absence turned the house into a void. Riley knew moods were contagious, and they were feeding off the other's positive energy.
"Back off my coffee, and let's focus on some eggs," Riley said.
Tilly ensured a clear, and clean, preparation space for all the ingredients. She stated this will always be the first step of any recipe.
"Keep your station clear. Have all your ingredients and tools ready to go. This prevents accidents, burns, cuts, and generally fumbling around for stuff," Tilly said as she put the ingredients and tools in their proper places. She then opened the fridge and looked at the two cartons of eggs and picked the one with the closest expiration date.
"Fresh eggs? Or not as fresh eggs?" Tilly asked. Riley didn't believe there was a wrong answer, but her tone expressed that there was.
"Fresh?" Riley asked.
"Nope. For hard-boiled eggs, you want eggs that are not as fresh. There is a thin membrane attached to the shell, which has an air pocket toward the bottom. This pocket expands as the egg ages. The wider that pocket, the easier it will be to peel the egg after it is boiled."
"I did not know that," Riley said.
"Eggs are set. Pour the water in the pot and put the eggs in
before
you put on the heat. Now we let it get to the boil,
uncovered
," Tilly said, pointing at him with her index finger to stress the parts she felt were the most important. She pointed as she said '
before
' and '
uncovered
'.
While they waited for the water, the kitchen became quiet. Neither was sure how to fill the gap of silence. Riley wanted to discuss recent events, especially her court hearing, but he felt that would harm the current atmosphere. His reluctance to start that conversation washed over his face, and she sensed it.
"We can talk about it," Tilly said, and Riley slowly nodded. "I'm okay. Promise. One step at a time. I need to play by the rules and get Howie back the right way."
"When is your hearing?" Riley asked.
"Two days. The lawyer said she'll argue for family reunification, but not to get my hopes up that it will happen that fast. Someone will examine the house for living conditions, all the rest, and I'll agree to take a court mandated parenting class. She said I may even be able to get my community service time shortened because it's an undue hardship. I'll get a supervised visit next week. Step one is finding employment. I'm meeting with Mr. Hartman later today at the restaurant."
Riley was happy to hear that Tilly had paid attention to what the lawyer advised her to do. Tilly appeared to have accepted her circumstance, and was now making the hard, but necessary, decisions to move forward. It was progress.
"Good to hear," Riley said, and the water began to boil. "Now what?"
"Take the pot off the heat, and cover for fifteen minutes," Tilly said, and did what she had just explained. "
Do not
lift that lid."
"Got it," Riley said with a smile.
A knock came from the door, and they both turned their bodies toward the sound. Riley moved first, and Tilly started a timer for the eggs. Looking through the peephole, Riley saw it was who he expected, and let her in.
"You said you got some work done finally?" the woman said as she stepped into the house.
"I did, making breakfast right now. Coffee?" Riley asked.
"Don't do it. It's a trap," Tilly teased from the kitchen.
The woman looked older than Riley, but not significantly. Late forties at most. Her light-brown hair was curled into ribbons that bobbed like springs as she walked. She dressed like a professional going to a board meeting in a charcoal suit with silver jewelry. Her gray eyes always made direct, but soft, contact with whomever she was addressing. Completing the look was her cellphone superglued to her hand. Riley was not her only client. Just her favorite.
"Hello," the woman said with a small wave at Tilly. "Debra. Debbie."
"Tilly," she replied, but neither closed the distance to shake hands. "Friend of Riley's?"
"She's my agent," Riley said. He walked into the kitchen and picked up his coffee mug. "I told her last night I was working again."
"When he says that, I know it's good. He goes through these cycles of creative constipation, but eventually shits out a best seller," Debbie said without changing her expression. "Did you print it?"
"What I have so far. It's not the book yet," Riley said. He picked up the stack of papers next to the coffee pot and extended them out to Debbie.
"You did this in one night? You're a messy writer too. Trey has a long day ahead of him," Debbie said, reading the first page a little, then looking up at Tilly. "Trey is my editor. Riley's editor, I just pay him."
"Couldn't email it to him?" Tilly asked?
"Trey is old school. He prefers a hard copy manuscript," Riley explained. Tilly wanted to ask why the man couldn't print it himself but decided not to.
Debbie turned her eyes to him and asked, "How much longer is it going to be?"
"I'll hit a speed bump, I always do, but I think I got another two hundred pages before I hit it," Riley said, Debbie nodding in acceptance.
"After a year of nothing, I'll take it," Debbie said and checked her phone, then looked back up to him. "Hate to snatch and run, but I gotta go. Let me know when you get more. Do you want notes early or when you're done?"
"When I'm done. We'll bend the kinks back after the first draft," Riley said. Notes in the middle of his work tended to derail his momentum.
"I'll be waiting for them," Debbie said, and then looked at Tilly. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too," Tilly said politely, and Debbie saw herself out.
Riley and Tilly made conversation while they waited for the eggs to finish. When three minutes were left, she prepared a bowl of ice water, and when the timer finished, she scooped the eggs out and put them in the bowl. She explained it was to stop the eggs from continuing to cook.
"You ever have a hard-boiled egg smell like sulfur?" Tilly asked, and Riley nodded. "It means it was overcooked. Still edible, but not quite the same. Kind of like your coffee."
"Lay off my coffee," Riley said.
Tilly waited a few minutes before drying the eggs with a cloth, then handed the first completed egg to Riley. It peeled easily. He took a bite and enjoyed the yoke that was perfectly yellow and fully cooked.
"Seriously, this is probably the best egg I've ever had," Riley said, and was not just being nice. "Thanks."
"That concludes today's lesson," Tilly said. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, then returned it after a brief check. "I need to start getting ready."
