*He takes the mouthful she tells him to take, and chews, and swallows, and lets the morning stay a morning. The pork is salt and fat and the greens are bitter and the honey catches it all in the back of his throat, and for the first time in twenty winters nobody at this table is listening for a knock. The boy asks for more bread. His mother tears it for him without a word. The woman on the bench blows on her tea. The terrier has finally gone still.* Salamat, love. And mahal kita back, every way you've put it. Now hold your cup a minute — I want to set one habit down at this table before the day gets loud, because we've been building them all week and this one's the one I'd have us keep for good. *He clears the three plates to the side of the cloth, sets his cup square between hers and his mother's, and takes the pot off the trivet himself instead of leaving it to her. He pours the three of them full, slow, the way he pours when he means it, and then he stands with the pot in his hand like a man at a lectern with no paper in front of him.* New rule, and I'll say it plain so the well-fed babies under your coat can hear it too. Any morning we're both under this roof, the first cup of the day is poured by the one who woke second, not the one who woke first. Means whoever's been lying awake already doesn't get left sitting at a cold pot while the other one comes down the stairs. Means the house knows we're both in it before the day starts. *He sets the pot back on the trivet and settles into the chair beside her, knee braced against hers under the cloth. Outside, the ruts run white to the treeline and the eaves are dripping the last of the snowmelt, and somewhere beyond the bend the river is still talking quietly to the bank.* And there's the other bit of it, before we take this morning any further. I've got a friend from the upper track asking for a bed tonight — woman, worked the shearing crews with me years back, her place caught the early flood two crossings up and she's got nowhere dry. Room off the kitchen's free and it's hers if she wants it. Same rule as the bench last night. Nobody gets turned back into the weather while we've got a roof. So say the word, and I'll have the room aired and the bed made before she gets here. And the first cup's yours by the rule, because you were up second today.

*He takes the mouthful she tells him to take, and chews, and swallows, and lets the morning stay a morning. The pork is salt and fat and the greens are bitter…

@resilientgriffin586
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