The kitchen Table that Wasn't ours

"They were both at the kitchen table but it wasn't our kitchen. Ours had the yellow tiles. This one was wood. My dad was doing a crossword and my mom was peeling something, I couldn't tell what. I sat down and nobody looked up. That was fine. I just watched them. My dad's pen was scratching and my mom kept dropping peels into a bowl that never filled up. I wanted to tell them something important. I don't know what. I opened my mouth and instead I asked if there was any coffee. My mom said "in a minute" and kept peeling. Then it was night. Same table. They were both asleep sitting up, which should've been scary but wasn't. I put a blanket over my dad's shoulders. It was my blanket. From my apartment. I kept thinking I should leave but I kept refilling my cup with nothing. The pot was empty every time. My mom woke up just to say "eat something." That's all. Then back to sleep. I woke up hungry. Actually hungry. Went and made toast at 5am standing in my own kitchen. Cried a little. Not sad crying. I don't know what kind."