I was up early that day and showered and dressed as if it was an Olympic sport. I still would have lost the gold medal because Renee and Beverly were already in the kitchen eating. It seemed the kitchen was where we always met, and so I often tried to stay in my room. “Good morning,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “I made your plate already. It’s on the counter. You might have to heat it up,” Renee said. I thanked her and slid the plate of eggs, bacon, and grits into the microwave. Beverly had yet to acknowledge my presence. She was too engrossed in the newspaper to even look up. If she wanted to play that game, that was fine by me. I was not going to kiss her butt to get a response. When I was younger, I spoke to her first. I used to wrap myself around her legs so she couldn’t walk, just so she would look at me. Not anymore. If she wanted to talk, she knew where I was. I took the hot plate out of the microwave and sat at the small table in the breakfast nook.
