I can do this

Saturdays were Olivia’s favorite day of the week. There was a certain peace in their home, which only seemed to have amplified, she felt, when they moved into the house less than two weeks ago. She would wake up at around nine and the smell of coffee was already paying her a visit in her room, along with the smell of toast, home baked magdalenes, pancakes, and eggs. Her Mom would always get up early to go for a run on Saturday mornings, and by the time she came back, the kitchen had already been turned into a culinary sanctuary of breakfast and comfort by Olivia’s grandmother, who had made it a point to cook them a hearty breakfast every Saturday for years, and it had become a sort of a weekly tradition they had grown accustomed to love. Olivia’s grandfather would always arrive with the dog right before breakfast was ready, bringing fresh coffee from Stu’s Coffee & Donuts, across town, and that was usually the time when Olivia would wake up from her slumber, get up, and join her family in the kitchen. This was something they also did when her father was still alive; while Olivia’s mother was out running, he would be drinking his own home brewed coffee and reading the paper, while his mother-in-law prepared a feast in the kitchen. It was only after his passing that her grandfather started to bring coffee brewed outside of the house. It was as if none of the adults wanted to touch that coffee maker, because that would perhaps give them the illusion that Olivia’s father - her sweet, funny, loving father was still with them. Olivia’s mother had never had coffee made at home ever since her husband died, but the coffee maker sat in the same spot in the kitchen of the apartment and now in a new spot in the house, and her mom always made sure it was clean and shiny, like a memory frozen in time that they all kept around for the sake of their own hearts. Olivia had to admit that the coffee maker made her smile every time she looked at it. Her father had enjoyed that family time just as much as any of them and his coffee had been at the center of it all ever since Olivia could remember. The first time her grandfather had brought in the store brewed hot beverage, there was a moment of silence in the kitchen, in the apartment they lived in before Olivia’s mother bought the house three years later. Tears made an appearance in the eyes of three generations of women that stood in that kitchen, holding their breaths, Olivia being only six at the time. “I believe there is no comparison between this coffee and the one my son in law used to brew”, Olivia’s grandfather said, after a couple of minutes, tears welling up. “I got this at Stu’s, on the other side of town, as far as I could go, and it is good enough to honor his memory”.

It had been the first and only time Olivia had seen her grandfather cry. It spoke to her about the love they all had for her father. She remembered hoping he was watching it all from heaven, crying of joy himself. “When you are loved”, he had told Olivia once, “it is a testament to the love you have given”. She remembered the look in his eyes when he said that. She remembered how he smiled too. “So love”, he concluded. “Love all the time”. Every Saturday after his departure, Olivia got to feel his presence near every time she sat to eat that same breakfast feast with those same people she knew her father had held dear, and who had loved him so profoundly. When she made it downstairs, her mom was already at the table, drinking some orange juice in her running clothes, and laughing with her mother - Olivia’s grandmother. They welcomed her with kisses and hugs, while Olivia’s grandfather served coffee and greeted her with a warm smile and a kiss on the head. She was grateful for her family every day, and twice on Saturdays. As the morning sun entered the house and they ate breakfast together, Olivia thought of a painting she wanted to start on.

“I can do this”, she thought to herself. She didn’t know if it was the new house, or the view of the bay bathed in early sunlight, or the laughter of the people she loved most, sitting across that table from her, but for the first time in three years, she felt a heavy weight lifted from her soul. All that ache, all that grieve that had dominated her days, was finally drifting away with the morning fog. At her age, everything seemed to happen slowly, and perhaps that was why it had taken her this long to find that space of absolute peace, she thought. She didn’t know. She felt however finally ready to live in a world where her father no longer did - or she hoped so. Her mother looked at her. “Are you okay, sweetie?” “I am”, she smiled. “I will be in my art room”. Her mom stretched out her arms and Olivia embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. On her way upstairs, she was already thinking of possibilities. This was a new chapter in her life, she knew that much. She turned around and looked at her family, still drinking coffee, still laughing and talking, and she allowed for happiness to touch her and inspire her for the first time in a long time.

“Yes, I can do this”, she repeated in a whisper, and headed to her art room, with a longing in her heart.

"Olivia" © - Chapter 7. Published May 23rd 2021. Available on Amazon