by Rebecca Shea
My fingers run a trail from the hollow of her neck, my favorite place on her body, down her chest, through her breasts, and back again. It’s comforting to feel her pressed against me, the light floral scent of her shampoo filling the pillow we share.
“Tell me about your mom,” she whispers, her voice breaking the silence.
“What do you want to know?” I should’ve evaded mentioning my mother. I never talk about my mom. It’s personal. Too painful.
“Everything. What she was like. What you loved about her.”
I swallow hard, but feel words coming to me. I shouldn’t tell her and yet I do. “I loved everything about her. She was always calm, caring. She gave everything to make others happy.” I choke back the lump I feel forming in my throat. “She loved to cook and bake—her life was her family.”
“How old were you when she passed?” She draws small circles on my chest with her finger. Her touch is comforting—calming.
“Six, almost seven. It was a week before my seventh birthday. I never celebrated a birthday after that. She was what made birthdays special for me. She made everything special. Every holiday, every meal, every bedtime story. We’d pray and read stories every night. We were inseparable. My dad’s business was just taking off, and he wasn’t around a lot, but my mom made up for that. She’d walk us to school every morning and meet us in the courtyard every afternoon. On our walks home, we’d talk about our day, and she’d tell us what she’d made for dinner. I’ll never forget the day she wasn’t there to meet us. You know how they say your gut knows when something is wrong?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I exhale a heavy breath. “I just knew it was bad when she wasn’t there. I ran home as fast as I could. We lived about a half-mile from the school, but I was in a full sprint. My brother was behind me, I’m not sure how far behind because I never looked back. I ran and ran until I got home. The front door was open. I didn’t hesitate. Nothing mattered other than knowing where my mother was. I screamed for her, Em. I screamed so loud, and she never answered. I searched the kitchen, her bedroom, my bedroom. I’ll never forget how hard my heart was pounding.” I pause to collect my thoughts, my emotions.
Emilia pulls herself even closer to me, pressing her cheek to my chest, and draping her arm across me. She weaves her long, bare legs in between mine, holding onto me like a vise grip. What I’d normally consider smothering is actually comforting. Her softness draped over me is comforting like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
“I finally checked her bathroom,” I continue, only barely aware that I’m combing my fingers through her hair. “The bathroom door was closed, but she loved baths. I thought maybe she’d lost track of time and was in the bathtub. I knocked, she didn’t answer, and that’s when I opened the door.” My voice cracks. “She was lying on the floor, covered in blood. She’d been shot three or four times. There were two holes in her head. I’ll never forget her face. I’ll never get that image out of my mind.” I squeeze my arms around her.
“I’m so sorry, Alex,” Emilia whispers. “I know exactly what you’re feeling.”
“You do?” I snap. How could she possibly?
“I do,” she says sadly. “It was only ever my mom and me, and I also found her dead with a bullet hole to her head. If anyone understands what you’re feeling, it’s me.”
Fuck. I lay silent. I want so badly to argue with her, but it’s not worth it. She got the best years of her life with her mom… I didn’t.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I apologize. “I just don’t talk about her—ever,” I admit.
“I know I’m just a stranger to you, Alex… but you can always talk to me.” She squeezes me tighter. I run my hand through her long hair again and press a kiss to her forehead.
There’s so much I’d love to tell her—but I can’t.
I DON’T KNOW what time it is, but Alex has been restless ever since he told me about his mom. He’s been tossing and turning, and when I try to come closer, he manages to push me away. Once again, he rolls to his back and flings both arms above his head, releasing a loud sigh. I hesitate before making my move. Rolling over, I push myself up and straddle him.
“You’re agitated,” I tell him. He brings his arms down to hold my hips, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh just above my hipbones. “I’m sorry if I made you angry.”
“I’m not angry,” he says, his voice void of emotion.
I gently rock my hips over his cock and feel it begin to harden beneath me. I want to help him release some of his tension, but he’s resisting. He holds my hips firmly, not allowing me to move on top of him. Leaning forward, I press soft kisses to his chest. I make my way to his neck and nip at the soft skin just above his collarbone. My hands sink into the soft mattress on either side of his head, and he finally relents, dropping his hands from my hips. He moans when I lift myself to allow his cock to stand up. Gently guiding myself onto him, he slides in comfortably and fills me completely. I moan at the sensation of him filling me. Placing both hands on his chest, I guide myself up and down, my pussy clenching his long shaft with each movement. He finally succumbs, and I can feel him begin to relax beneath me. His eyes are dark with desire and he presses his fingers into the soft skin of my waistline.
I rise and fall, my movements quicker and unyielding, his fingertips squeezing me harder. “Need you,” I mumble as my head falls back, his cock brushing against my G spot and taking my breath away.
“What did you say?” he asks as he lifts his hip and drives himself into me.
“I said I need you.”
He stills and closes his eyes for a moment before slowly picking up his pace. The pressure of his pelvic bone against my clit sends me spiraling into an orgasm that has my body trembling. I lean forward on his chest while he slams into me once more with his release, then I lie on top of him, just feeling him—all of him. Silence fills the space between us again, and I can feel his conflict. He holds on to me like he can’t let go, like he’ll die without me. But the pain on his face tells another story, the real story—he can and will live without me. When he finally speaks, his words are strained. “Em, I can’t—”
“I know,” I say, cutting him off. I slide off of him and curl into a ball next to him. His hand rests on my side, and I hear the steady rhythm of his light breaths. A small part of me wants to run, retreat to the safety of the guest room, and guard my heart. But somewhere deep inside of me, another part of me longs for Alex’s love—even if this is all he can give. I will compromise and take what he can give me—even if this is all it ever is.
I WAKE UP in my own bed, the sunlight crawling across my face. I never closed the curtains last night. I roll over and yelp when I see Alex on the chaise lounge. He’s wearing a pair of gym shorts and nothing else, and he offers me a tired smile.
“What’re you doing in here?” I pull the sheet up higher over my naked body, even though we’ve seen each other naked several times already. I feel vulnerable with him right there, especially after last night.
“I like watching you sleep. You’re peaceful.” His voice is weak, tired, but he chuckles a little and points at me. “Nothing I haven’t already seen.”
I pull the sheet a little higher, hating the blush creeping across my cheeks. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“A few hours.”
“You should really go get some sleep.”
“I wanted to watch you sleep.”
The whites of his eyes are bloodshot, and dark circles are starting to form underneath. His hair is a disheveled mess—but he still looks perfect to me. He scratches his chest lightly, rolling the crucifix in his fingers.
“Em, when you think about your future, what is it that you see? What do you want?” His face is full of anguish.
I frown and think about it. Last night, he got angry with me, and now he’s asking me this? “That’s a big question for…” I look around for a clock.
“Five thirty in the morning,” he answers. “Te
ll me.”
I have to think for a moment. “I mean, I think we all have dreams. What we’d like or how we think our lives will turn out, but I also think that ninety-nine percent of the time those realities don’t exist… at least not for me.”
“Why do you say that?” he questions, lacing his fingers behind his head. His face is full of confusion and mixed emotions.
I shrug. “Just my life. I try not to be negative, but when I think things can’t get worse, they usually do.”
He seemed pained by my answer. “So, what do you envision for your future?”
I sigh softly. “I stopped thinking so far ahead a long time ago. I just try to live for today.”
“Em, answer me.” His eyes plead with me. “We all think about where we’ll be in five or ten years.”
Not me. Still, I do dream. I do want. I do. “Sure; I have the same dream every girl has—get married, have kids, live happily ever after. I want to be the mom that mine could never be for me.” I shrug, although I feel the hurt wound tight inside of me. “What do you want?” I need to take the focus off me.
“I’d fucking love all of that,” he says quietly, introspective, then he rubs his tired eyes and leans back against the chaise lounge.
“Then have it,” I tell him. “If you want it bad enough—go get it.”
He turns his head to look at me, but he’s still lost in his thoughts. There are a million questions, a million concerns, running through those dark, tired eyes.
“It doesn’t work that way,” he says.
“Sure it does. If you want something badly enough, you’ll make it happen.”
His shoulders slump with defeat or exhaustion—I’m not sure which. “Come here.”
He pats his lap, and I take the sheet with me, sitting there. Immediately, he snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. Brushing the hair off my shoulders, he runs his fingers across my collarbone and rubs the front of my neck, resting his finger at the base in the hollow. If I had to guess, I would say this is his favorite spot on my body.
“Why are you so beautiful?” he whispers reverently.
“I’m not.” I run my hand up the side of his cheek, feeling the soft hair that sits along his jawline. I cup his cheek, and his head falls into my palm. His eyes soften as my thumb brushes the soft skin just below his eye. “Why are you so handsome?”
He blows a puff of air through his nose and rolls his eyes at me.
“You are. You’re handsome and kind… and—”
“Stop.” He winces.
“No. This is what I see when I’m with you.” He has to know how beautiful he is, how kind it was of him to take me in, even if I was terrified of him that first day.
“You don’t know anything about me, Em. This”—He gestures up and down his body—“is smoke and mirrors. It’s a mask for the evil I am inside.”
I almost laugh. Evil? Why would he think that about himself? “You’re not evil.” I place my hand on his chest, over his heart.
“I am.” Our eyes lock on each other, and behind those amber orbs I see a world of hurt—despair. His thumbs rub circles over my collarbone, and I lean forward, capturing his lips. His soft, warm lips. I press a light kiss, and he kisses me back. “Will you go somewhere with me?”
Anywhere, but I don’t say that. “Sure. Where?”
“Church.”
My eyes must widen until he smirks and runs a finger over my lip. “I go every Sunday, and sometimes a couple times during the week, and for sure on every holy day.”
I nod slowly in surprise. “I’ve never been to church, but I’ll go with you. I need to shower and get ready…”
“You have plenty of time. Mass isn’t until nine. Rosa will have brunch waiting when we get back.” He smiles warmly at me and his mood seems to have turned.
“Okay then. Church it is,” I say with a breathy laugh.
THREE HOURS LATER, we’re walking the quiet downtown Phoenix streets. A light breeze makes the air around us feel like an oven. We approach a giant stucco church that sits right in the heart of downtown. It’s old, but beautiful and clearly renovated. Alex reaches for my hand as we take the steep steps to the heavy, oak double doors with large wrought-iron handles. Just inside, Alex dips his finger in a small cup of water secured to the wall and makes the sign of the cross. Then he dips his finger again and makes the sign of the cross on my forehead.
“Holy water,” he says quietly.
He guides me into the church and we find a wooden pew in the back. Before sitting down, Alex pulls down a small, padded bench and kneels, bowing his head. I sit quietly and simply take in the beauty. Large pillars adorn the inside, and stained-glass windows cast a glow over the entire place. The altar is simple, yet elegant, a crucifix hanging prominently behind the altar. Such history here.
Alex remains kneeling in prayer for quite some time, and I observe people of all walks of life filter soundlessly into the church and take their seats. An organ plays a slow, haunting song, and the entire congregation suddenly rises. I stand and Alex slips his hand into mine again. For the next hour, I watch as everyone rises, sits, kneels, and Alex stays with me as everyone leaves to take communion, as he calls it. He’s whispered to me throughout the mass, informing me of what’s happening or what’s about to happen.
I’m oddly at peace here. I talk to my mom and feel like maybe she can hear me, and I pray to God, hoping maybe he’ll hear me too. My hopes are low, seeing as I’ve asked for so little in the past and every prayer has seemingly gone unanswered before.
Alex wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him, and I find myself sinking into his side. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as we listen to the priest give his final prayer. Alex’s body is warm, and I can smell his cologne that I love so much. Between the comfort of his touch and the peacefulness of the place, I feel a sense of contentment pass through me.
“So, what did you think?” Alex asks me as we walk down the steps to the street below.
“It’s weird.” I turn to look at him. “I feel happier.”
He smiles at me. “It does that to you. You leave your troubles, your burdens, in that church and when you walk away, you feel lighter.”
“That’s exactly it. I feel lighter.”
“I want to introduce you to someone,” he says, reaching for my hand. He pulls me through the sea of people that have gathered outside to socialize.
“Father Mark.” He nods at the priest. “I wanted to introduce you to someone. This is Emilia. Emilia Adams.”
“Ah, Emilia!” he says excitedly. “Alejandro has told me about you.”
Confused, I look at Alex, then back to the priest. “He has?”
“He has.” He smiles at me. Father Mark adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses and looks between Alex and me.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I tell him, shaking his hand. I’m shocked. Twice now, I’ve been told Alex has mentioned me.
“Likewise.” He nods. “Alex, would you mind if I had a word with you?”
“Sure, Father.” Alex gives me a reassuring smile. “We’ll be just a minute.”
“I’ll just wait over here.” I gesture to a tall tree full of blooming flowers, and Father Mark guides Alex through the crowd. The two men lean into each other and disappear from my sight. I wait in the shade of the tree and people watch. I find myself doing this a lot in Phoenix. At home, everyone looked the same, acted the same—here, it’s eclectic, different.
“I thought that was you,” I hear just as someone touches my arm, catching me off guard.
“Oh my gosh, Sam! You scared me.” I laugh and cover my heart with my hands.
“I didn’t expect to see you here. I’ve never seen you here before,” he says as he glances around, his dark brown eyes dancing in the sunrays that peek through the branches of the tree we’re standing under.
“It’s my first time here—actually my first time ever going to church.” I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that.<
br />
He furrows his brows like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard anyone say. “Ever?”
“Ever.” I laugh.
“So, what did you think?” He rolls up the sleeves on his white dress shirt and loosens his purple and gray necktie.
“I liked it enough that I’ll probably come back.” I shrug, not wanting to share my true personal story of how it was. I certainly don’t know him well enough for that.
“Good.” He nods, as he nudges my shoulder. “I’m glad I got to see you. I’d ask you to join me for coffee or breakfast, but I have to work today.”
I frown at him. “On a Sunday?”
“Yeah, we’ve got a lot going on. Some new shit just landed on my desk, and it’s the kind of work that can’t wait for Monday.”
My eyes widen when Sam says “shit” right outside a church. “Well then, you better get to work. Corporate America awaits.” He looks at me funny, but smiles and I add, “Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see you at Café Au Lait sometime, right?”
“I was just going to ask you if you got the job. I take it you did?” He wiggles his eyebrows comically.
I nod, feeling proud, even though it’s just a coffee shop. It’s a step in the right direction, in a new town that I still don’t know. It’s a huge step for me. “I did.”
“Congratulations.” He grins. “When do you start?”
“Tomorrow.” Megan asked me to start on Monday so she could train someone else she also just hired this weekend. It’s easier for her to manage training us one at a time.
“Great. Well, then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your day, Emilia.”
“See you tomorrow.” I watch Sam disappear through the now thinning crowd and smile at the little flutter in my stomach. Much like the feeling I get when I see Alex walking back toward me.
