Grapefruit Juice.

You laugh shamelessly,
as my mother slices my grapefruit into perfect, spoonable triangles
It's that unrestrained and over-exaggerated chuckle of yours,
that echoes under your breath.
You call me an almost-adult,
who still requires help from my mommy
when performing the most trivial of tasks.
For a moment, and one moment only,
I take your words to heart
- That is, until you laugh again and address me as Baby
"When we're married, I'll be the one that has to do that shit for you."
Not if, but when. I smile warmly at that notion,
Then pause to feel you smiling back.
I collect this new thought you've given me,
and envision that possible life.
I see you, older and more mature,
with a much straighter smile.
You're looking at an older me,
my face suggesting that I never sleep through the night anymore.
We're standing in our deep red kitchen,
which is surprisingly well-lit, considering the early hour
I'm pouring your coffee - hot, with little sugar or cream,
and smiling sweetly in your direction.
You look away - laughing and shaking your head,
as you patiently slice my grapefruit.