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long as I can remember. When I was a child, a teenager, and obviously even now, I’ve always felt centered in these few morning moments before the rest of the world wakes up.
    As a child, I needed it to get away from my mother in the morning. No matter which husband it was, one of them was already up and gone before the sun rose, and that meant it was time for me to listen to the details of every conversation the two of them shared the day before and what exactly the meaning behind it was.
    Right. I know. Every one of her husbands’ parting words to me was, ‘Lexy. Be thankful you have the patience of Job, you have a hard, long time ahead of you.’ Or something to that affect.
    Then, after Liam and I were married, I found myself waking up early out of habit. In the beginning of our marriage, I tried to stay in bed late. I’d wake up a good thirty minutes early to do some pre-wake up primping, but after only a few months, that shit got old. And laying there beside him, listening to him breathe while he slept, didn’t last much longer.
    The time only measures to an hour. But it’s an hour that carries me through the rest of the day. One hour before the sun rises. Me and my cup of coffee, lost in my thoughts.
    It helps me prepare for the day ahead and tuck in the days before. It’s a meditative moment of reflection, that is honestly, probably the spine of my marriage. I do better with Liam if I thoroughly think through our interactions and conversations, as ridiculous as it sounds, and yes—I realize I’m doing almost exactly what my mother did growing up. But take it from me, if I want my marriage to work—my life to work, with Liam, it’s time well-needed.
    And time well-spent, every morning.
    I remember my mother and I’s conversation from the day before yesterday, and it causes my stomach to knot with anxiety. I don’t want to have to ask Liam if Mother can visit. I want her to just drop in like she did last time and the time before. But I don’t want to have to explain it to my mother when she asks why I ask her to just drop in, again.
    She doesn’t like Liam, but she knows what’s good…for me. And he’s good for me. He’s good to me. He loves me, and I love him. Even if he is one of those people. Those people who are so big, they’re bigger than life. They are intense. Extreme. And loving them is too. So much so, that it requires deliberate meditation, if you will.
    When I remember the pregnancy test he’s going to want again in five days, dread fills the pit of my stomach.
    I’ve never been pregnant, but something tells me I would feel it if I were. And I know I’m not. I knew I wasn’t before I took the last test, just like I know I’m not now.
    But whatever Liam says, I do.
    And not because I’m a pushover, I don’t want you to have that impression of me. I do know how to stand up for myself. I’ve done it many times.
    Just…not usually with Liam.
    My mother has always accused me of being a pushover. Of having a bleeding heart.
    So—so if when this story ends, and you believe the same, then that’ll swing the jury vote.
    Then I’ll admit it to myself.
    As I continue to sip from my warm mug, lost in thought, I sit out on the trellis while absorbing the first doses of emotions I’ll encounter today unpacking with my new friend and my husband. I know he won’t be here the entire day. And I know he won’t be standing over us, watching our every move. But still, I hope for the best. Prepare for the worst.
    As the sun begins creeping up into the sky, as the pinks and blues mix, making the pink-blue sky a new color, anxiety begins to raise it’s ugly head when different scenarios including how Liam finds out I knew Mary was pregnant and kept it from him run through my mind. I’m damn near hyperventilating when Liam’s husky sleep-laden voice makes me jump two inches from my seat and scream like a nine-year-old.
    “Baby girl, whatcha out here thinking about?”
    I laugh behind my hand