Confessions From A Coffee Shop

by T. B. Markinson

  That got her going. Before I knew it, I was on my back and Kat was inside me, her fingers thrusting in and out. Her smoldering look forced me to focus my eyes on her beautiful gray ones. She pushed in deeper. There was no fighting it; I was close to coming.

  “Kiss me while I come,” I pleaded.

  “Anything you want, darling.”

  Light flashed, exploding behind my eyes, and Kat held her mouth to mine as my body writhed in ecstasy. Kat plunged her fingers in deeper, and stayed. Wrapping my legs around her, I felt my juices flooding out. I came not once, but twice‌—‌all the while savoring Kat’s fervent kisses. It topped all of my other orgasms with her, or with anyone else, for that matter.

  The sensations stilled after several minutes, but Kat still lay on top of me, exhausted.

  “That was amazing.” I breathed in her sensual fragrance.

  Louis Armstrong’s gravelly voice joined Ella’s on the CD. “What song is this?” I asked.

  She craned her neck, waiting for the lyrics. “‘Gee, Baby, Ain’t I Good To You.’ Do you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  She nestled her head back against my chest, and I ran my hand down her back.

  “We should play it at our wedding,” I said.

  Kat sucked in a deep breath. So big that I thought for sure she wasn’t happy. We had never talked about getting married.

  “Wedding?” The word sounded as if it had come from the other side of the room.

  “Forget I said it,” I murmured, not wanting to ruin the mood.

  She rolled off me and propped herself up on one elbow.

  “What if I don’t want to forget it?” she whispered, casually playing with one of my nipples.”

  “What do you mean?” Nervousness seemed to crest within me.

  “I didn’t think you ever thought of it‌—‌getting married, I mean.” Kat stilled her hand, resting it on my heart. I thought for sure she could hear it fluttering like mad. I imagined it looked like a bee trapped in a pop can, desperately seeking a way out.

  I laughed, unsure what to say. “To be honest, I hadn’t before. But, now… here…‌I want it.”

  Kat didn’t speak for several seconds.

  The pregnant pause stilled my breathing until, finally, she broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “I do too,” she said. “Just not yet.”

  I let out a relieved sigh. “Deal. Besides, I need some time to come up with a romantic way to ask.”

  Kat slapped my stomach. “Like you would ever do that.”

  I rolled over on my side and cradled her head in my hands. “Is that a challenge?”

  “Maybe.” She gave a sexy little laugh.

  “Just you wait. I plan to sweep you off your feet.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. The practical Cori Tisdale getting in touch with her inner romantic …” She threw me a disbelieving look.

  “You forget, Kat, that I’m a British lit teacher. Romance abounds in those novels.”

  “What are you going to do, study Pride and Prejudice to come up with ideas? Then again, you are a lot like Mr. Darcy: opinionated, stuck-up, and stubborn.” She grinned.

  “I can’t believe you said that.” I pinned her down, and started to tickle her.

  “Stop!” She squirmed under me.

  “Take it back,” I teased, not letting up.

  “Never.” Kat continued to wriggle. She had never looked more beautiful.

  I stopped tickling and made love to her. And we didn’t stop until I had to get up to shower for work.

  By the time I was ready to leave for the coffee shop, Kat was sound asleep on the floor in front of the fire. I covered her with our comforter, kissed her forehead. Pausing to admire her exquisite face, I whispered, “I never want you to doubt me.”

  Her eyes flashed open. “Ditto.”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Never forget you said that.”

  I sealed my promise with a kiss. “Get some rest, beautiful.”

  * * *

  Work was painful. My head was throbbing and I felt nauseated, but it also seemed that everyone in the Financial District had called in sick‌—‌or maybe it was the shitty economy. Every once in a while, a customer would come in, but there was nothing else to make the time pass more quickly. Harold jibber-jabbered about Amber, and I did my best to act excited for him. He was quickly falling head over heels in love. Or was it lust? Mostly, I just wanted my shift to end.

  I texted Mom, asking her to meet me for lunch in the café of Neptune’s bookstore, on Newbury Street.

  When I received a rapid “yes,” I wondered if her cell phone was permanently attached to her hand. Maybe she was blogging. Was that even the right word? It sounded so crass.

  Arriving a few minutes early at Neptune’s, I grabbed a table in the back. It would be harder for Mom to find me, but I was hoping it would be quieter. Those hopes were dashed when two giggling women sat at the table nearest to mine.

  I glared at them.

  They ignored me.

  Maybe they were unable to see my eyes through my dark sunglasses. Why in the world had I consumed so much alcohol yesterday? I rubbed my throbbing temples.

  “I’m surprised you’re even out of bed,” Mom said, taking a seat across from me.

  “Had an early shift this morning,” I grumbled.

  “Did you invite me here to yell at me?” She crossed her arms.

  “What? Why?” I poured some sugar into the coffee I had ordered, and the waitress waited for Mom’s order, tapping her pencil on her notebook. Her hair was frizzled and matted into dreads, and from the looks of her, she hardly showered. I eyed her warily. How skuzzy people were able get jobs serving food always baffled me.

  “Cappuccino,” requested my mother, and the waitress shuffled back behind the counter.

  “So, out with it, Cori.”

  “I don’t know why you think I want to yell at you.”

  “Last night. The appointment with the psychic…‌does that ring any bells in that dense head of yours?”

  I massaged my temples again and then removed my shades gingerly. Squinting across the table, I responded, “I haven’t forgotten about that. How did your water ceremony go?”

  Mom waved her hand, and frustration flooded her face. “It was a waste. A complete waste.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “What? You’re sorry …” Mom cupped a hand to her ear. “Are you okay, Cori, besides being hungover?” She leaned forward, peering into my haggard face.

  The disgusting waitress returned with the cappuccino.

  “Want food?” she asked.

  How could we refuse? I ordered the tofu scramble, and Mom selected her norm: the classic Caesar salad. She always got that for lunch, no matter where we went.

  After the waitress retreated, Mom drummed her fingers on the table, awaiting my answer to her earlier question.

  “Why are you convinced Dad is having an affair?”

  She sighed, flicking her hair back from her face. “He’s not acting normal. What else could it be?”

  “How’s he acting?”

  “Aloof, timid…‌he hasn’t touched me in weeks. I know you hate to hear it, but your father and I have always had an active sex life.”

  One of the women at the table next to us turned to get a good look at my mother. Mom’s cold stare forced her to quickly avert her eyes.

  “But it could be any number of things,” I explained.

  “Such as?” Mom sipped her cappuccino. It was too hot, and she made a sour face.

  “Depression, illness, he’s tired…‌have you thought about just asking him? You’re usually not shy about putting people on the spot.”

  Her eyes darted away from mine. “I‌—‌”

  “You’re scared to find out.”

  Her head snapped back around. “Is this why you asked me here today? To lecture me?”

  “Partly.”

  “What’s the oth
er reason?”

  “I’m not done talking about Dad.”

  “I am.” Her tone suggested I better leave it alone.

  Raising my coffee cup to my lips, I pondered how to proceed. I hesitated a little too long.

  “You need money,” she said bluntly.

  I sighed. “Yes, but not for the normal reason.”

  “The normal reason. Ha!” My mother laughed. “What’s the normal reason?”

  “Not making ends meet…‌bills, mortgage, Kat’s …”

  “Kat’s what?”

  Her body language suggested she wanted me to finally say it out loud.

  “It’s no secret Kat loves to shop. Let’s face it: I don’t make enough for her tastes.”

  “A lot of people your age would have a hard time supporting a woman like Kat.” Mom’s sincerity flummoxed me. It was the first time my mother had said anything like that. I had no idea how to take it.

  “Kat’s wonderful in every other way…‌she just likes to shop.” I could tell I was coming across as defensive.

  Mom placed her hand on mine. “I know you love Kat, and I love her too. I’m not trying to bash her, I swear.”

  “That’s good, because I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  My mother stiffened in her seat, her mouth opening and closing. Not once had I seen my mom speechless. Not when I came out. Not the time I told her I might have leukemia. (The blood test had come back negative, thank goodness.)

  I was suddenly nervous. What if Mom disapproved completely? It would be the first time I’d decided to go against her wishes. She may not always have believed I was making the best decisions in the past, but she always supported me. What if she didn’t support me in this?

  “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” she said finally, leaving before I could stop her.

  Our food arrived, and knowing Mom must have wanted some time, I dug in to mine so it wouldn’t get cold.

  She returned to the table ten minutes later, carrying a stack of magazines.

  “Good thing you ordered a salad. It’s supposed to be cold.”

  “You’re full of surprises today. That joke was kinda funny.”

  The twinkle in her eye made me curious. “What’s up with the magazines?”

  “Wedding magazines, of course. My baby is getting married!”

  I smiled, relieved. But I still needed clarification. “You approve?”

  My mother drove me crazy, but I always wanted her support.

  “Approve? Of course!” She cupped my chin with her hand. “I never thought this day would come. My independent child is actually getting married.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I haven’t proposed, yet.”

  “What, you need money for a ring?” Mom reached for her purse, and I thought she was going to whip out a wad of bills. Realizing what she was doing, she laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m just so excited.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but I want to give her grandmother’s ring. Kat loves everything from the nineteen-twenties, and I think the ring is perfect.”

  “I don’t believe it! That’s perfect. Why didn’t I think of that? And how did you come up with that on your own?” She slapped my hand playfully.

  “All right, who are you and what did you do to my mother?” I joked.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “That’s better. I was starting to get worried.” I scooped more food into my mouth.

  “So if you don’t need money for a ring, what do you need it for?”

  “I want to take Kat to Italy. She’s always wanted see Michelangelo’s Pietà.”

  “Is that where you’re going to pop the question?” She forked up some salad and, to my astonishment, chewed with her mouth open. Clearly the shock still hadn’t worn off.

  “I would like to. Is that too cheesy?” I sat back in my seat.

  “Don’t worry about being cheesy. This is about you two, not about what others will think.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by Aunt Barbara. Pulling out a chair next to my mother, she said, “Nell told me I had to come here quick. What’s up?”

  Aunt Barbara’s gallery wasn’t far away, and she had obviously come from there. Her shirt and hands were still speckled with paint. Although she never showcased her own work in the gallery, she did all of her own painting in the backroom.

  Spying the magazines on the table, she put a hand over her mouth for a second, and then mouthed, “Get out!”

  Mom nodded enthusiastically. “Cori wants to pop the question!”

  “Get out!” was all my aunt could say.

  I smiled shyly. “What do you think? Would Italy be a good spot to propose?”

  “Oh, Kat was talking about Italy just the other day,” said Barbara.

  Mom must have kicked her under the table, since my aunt’s knee immediately whacked into the tabletop.

  I was too overwhelmed to give it much thought.

  “You know, Phineas Finn will be your father-in-law.” Aunt Barbara leveled her eyes on mine.

  “It can’t be helped. At least Kat hates hanging out with him as much as I do.”

  “What about when you have kids? He’ll be their granddad.” Mom chipped in.

  “Are you two trying to talk me out of this?” The words trembled in my throat.

  “No!” they shouted in unison.

  “Good, because I’m set on it. I want to marry Kat.”

  “Does she have any inkling?” inquired my aunt.

  “I think so. We talked about it briefly this morning.”

  “What did you say?” she continued.

  “We were listening to a song, and I said we should play it at our wedding. Honestly, the words just slipped out. Until that moment, I hadn’t thought of getting married.”

  “You two must have had some night last night, after I dropped you off.” Mom nudged Barbara and winked.

  “Mom, please. Don’t ruin this moment.”

  My aunt motioned to my sunglasses, folded on the table, and then to the bags under my eyes. “Did you sleep at all last night?” she asked.

  “No.” I had tried using concealer, but there was no hiding my exhaustion.

  “Oooo…‌Oh to be young again.” Aunt Barbara looked past me, to the bookshelves beyond. I assumed she was daydreaming, maybe about former loves.

  “When are you going to pop the question?” Mom got back down to business.

  “Not for a while.”

  “Cori, don’t overthink this.”

  I waved her off. “Kat said she wasn’t ready.”

  “Well, that makes sense,” proffered my aunt.

  Mom kicked her again under the table and gave her the evil eye.

  I sat there looking between the two of them, puzzled.

  “I’m just saying, if you want to pop the question in Italy, you need to plan it.” Barb turned to face my mother. “And stop kicking me. I’ll be bruised from head to toe soon.”

  Mom ignored her. “I’m going to buy a fancy red dress.”

  “You will not!” threatened my aunt.

  “Why not?” my mother shot back.

  “You can’t wear red to a wedding. It’s gauche.”

  “I can’t wear white.”

  “Or red. You aren’t supposed to be the center of attention. You aren’t one of the brides.” My aunt waggled a finger in her face.

  “I’m a mother of the bride. Besides, Cori won’t want to be the center of attention.”

  “Kat will.”

  “Ladies, there’s plenty of time to discuss this matter,” I interjected, knowing the argument would otherwise last until one of them died. I tried to distract them with a random piece of trivia. “Did you know Mark Twain wore his Oxford robes to his daughter’s wedding?”

  My aunt looked at me, gave me a quick smile, and then laid into Mom again. “Red is out of the question!”

  “How about purple?”

  “Purple! A woman your age shouldn’t wear purple.”

 
; “My age! You’re eight years older, remember?”

  I slipped away from the table and wandered to the bookstore. I could still hear them arguing, but decided it was best to stay out of it. Two sisters fighting‌—‌who knew what past sins they’d throw in each other’s faces? It was a good thing they loved each other, or there would be blood on the walls.

  As I searched the stacks for something to read, the cover of Twilight caught my eye. Hands holding an apple, like an offering. It didn’t look like your typical vampire novel. I picked it up, remembering my promise to Samantha.

  Next, I searched for a copy of Confessions of a Shopaholic. Maybe it had some answers for me. Relieved to find both books in this small shop, I headed to the cashier, paid for the books, and returned to our table.

  Mom and Aunt Barbara were now bickering about what the other had worn to my grandfather’s funeral.

  I sat for several minutes, reading Twilight, before my aunt included me in the conversation. “Cori, what do you think?”

  “Hmmm …” I peered over the book.

  She harrumphed, knowing I wasn’t paying attention, and returned to battle my mother on her own.

  “Need anything more?” The scuzzy waitress returned and directed her question to me, since my dining companions were squabbling like children.

  “Another coffee, please. And the check.”

  The hippie waitress refilled my coffee cup and tried to keep her eyes off the bickering women. She failed. It was like watching a train wreck.

  I shook my head and went back to my book. All around us, I sensed that other patrons were eavesdropping. They might have wondered how I sat there calmly reading during the fracas.

  Years of practice.

  I loved my mom and my aunt, but boy could they act like idiots.

  Chapter Ten

  The next Saturday night, Kat and I were back at Aunt Barbara’s for dinner. I immediately grabbed a Sam Adams from the fridge and began to walk toward the deck, to join the men outside. Two years ago, my aunt had arranged for cable to be hooked up on the deck. She hated watching baseball, but my uncle was a devoted Red Sox fan. When Barb installed it, she had proclaimed she’d killed two birds with one stone. She got her TV back and she banished Roger outside like a dog. Roger, on the other hand, loved watching TV outside. He thought it was one of the sweetest things his wife had ever done for him. Even though fall had arrived, he still preferred bundling up and watching the game on the deck. Bostonians were hardy folk.