The star of M. Night Shyamalan's "Unfeatured" https: She had woken up early, lying perfectly still afraid to move. Their plans for the day scrolled through her head, and her breath caught more than once. She slid out from under the blankets careful not to wake him. Slipping on her hoodie and battered cross trainers, she tiptoed through their tiny flat and snuck away to the corner market. They made love last night for the first time in weeks.
It was her idea. It seemed right at the time. Part of her wanted to make up for what happened in the afternoon. She had been up until 4 a. On the way home they stopped by a bakery near the riverwalk, planning for a dinner of fresh bread and butter and wine — again, easy to agree. The day caught up with her and she flopped on the couch, inching closer and closer to rapid eye movement. When she woke up, she was little spoon. She had no idea how long had passed, but she was certain she had been sound asleep.
His breath was warm on the back of her neck, his arm looped around her belly. Maybe he felt her stir — or maybe whatever internal thermometer he was working with finally hit boil — but he began kissing her gently on the back of her neck and bare shoulders around the strap of her tanktop.
But his lips became more persistent, and his grip pulled her tighter against him. Curled up into herself, she wiped her groggy eyes with the heel of her hand.
For a moment she sat biting her thumbnail. Would she have to apologize? Apologize once again for him doing something that made no sense? He was sitting in the kitchen with an open beer, staring out the window past the fire escape. She folded her arms, and they stood silently for a moment. I was sound asleep. What made you think I wanted to —? What am I doing wrong? Wake me when you wanna eat. She drank more than she used to. It helped her fall asleep more quickly.
She loved the hour after he went to bed. The couch was all hers. Working on yourself counts as working, right? Finally in bed, she curled up next to him. His smell fooled her. It was the same smell as the time he first spent the night here. Back then, she had awaken the next morning to find him sitting on the window sill staring up at the light slipping between the buildings, just as she had done so often when she first moved in.
That morning, she crawled toward him, wrapped her arms over his shoulders and sunk her face into the back of his head — breathing him in the way they had breathed each other the night before. His smell fooled her, and her eyes teared up. But making up is what happens next. She kissed him, straddling his closest leg. He was tentative after their fight, so she gave him every reason not to be.
They made love as they had hundreds of time before. She closed her eyes, and to her it was the first time he spent the night. It was the smell, and tomorrow the sun coming between buildings — the morning light when they fell in love. She wanted to be wrapped in his love from that distant day. I want you to feel good. And she rolled to her side of the bed and cried quietly into her pillow. She woke up early to make banana walnut pancakes.
They were his favorite. She had to sneak out before he woke up to buy everything she needed. He found her at the kitchen table with bloodshot eyes drinking coffee. He kissed her on the cheek. But he was confused. They had plans to drive to her parents for brunch. He ate pancakes and scrolled through the New York Times on his tablet, while she sat quietly drinking coffee. They washed the dishes together, then she wrapped the remaining pancakes in aluminim foil and handed folded package to him.
He slept on the couch that night with his phone on his chest, waiting for answers to his texts that never came. Zubov, the owner of the small shop. She was plucking overripe apples from the display and depositing them in the trash.
She said she was making your favorite pancakes as a surprise. Such a sweet girl.