My friend has already left for work, leaving me to awake slowly as I please.
I had been awake for a little bit, only covered by a thin sheet, deemed not thick enough to stand up against the cool Southern California morning. I’ve only met my friend’s mom twice before. At 7am, Mom re-tucked me into bed with an extra layer. As she pressed the blanket around my silhouette, I embraced her maternal instincts, the same ones that raised a beautiful daughter whom I would one day call my friend.
As the warmth fills the underside of the blanket, the lump that is my resting body, I wonder if all women are gifted with maternal instincts. It’s not the first time I’ve been tucked in as an adult by someone that is not family. I’ve had a multitude of friends perform the same caring act over the past year. Maybe it’s because I sleep tummy-side down without a pillow like an infant in a crib. Maybe it’s because they know I left my carebears in my bed and I am miles from home. Maybe it’s because I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow and am now curled up like a shrimp. Maybe it doesn’t matter because I love being tucked in and the people who tuck me in.