Kerry tiptoed into the room, hoping not to wake her.

Carefully stepping over the chaos and clutter of the day, Kerry made it to the bedside.

Even with such little light, Kerry could see her, peaceful, full immersed in sleep. Her hair was unkempt, and she drooled on the floral pillow a little. She was a mess, there was no way around it, but she was Kerry’s mess, and Kerry loved her for it.

Kerry had ice water in a red cup, and she was about to place it on the bedside table but had to shuffle some things around first. She slid some empty nail polish, a lotion bottle caked around the rim, and a purple scrunchy off the table. They made a noise as the toppled to the floor but hardly roused the heavy sleeper.

Kerry pulled the comforter up, tucking it nicely around the shoulder blades. The motion revealed a bottle, left in the bed, and Kerry took this safety hazard with her.

As Kerry finished tucking, the sleeper seemed to startle themselves with a particularly snotty snort, their arm leaping out and narrowly missing the water. Perhaps, thought Kerry, it was best to alert them of its presence.

With the grace of a parent, Kerry reached over and nudged a shoulder.

“Mom,” she whispered quietly, “there is water right here if you need it.”

Kerry’s mother murmured something indecipherable, and rolled over, leaving Kerry to traverse back out of the room, in hopes of getting a few hours of sleep before getting herself up for school.