Restricted Release

by Sommer Marsden

  Food is not good or bad. It is nourishment… I remembered what a therapist told me. But then again that therapist was about ten times crazier than I will ever be. Something I came to realize about most therapists.

  “You are…here!” she said. Then she blushed. “Sorry. I just don’t know what to say besides, yay?”

  I grinned. “Oh, I know. Don’t worry at all. I know how shocking it must be to see me here.”

  “What can I get you? You missed the daily I’m-on-my-lunch-break smash and grab.”

  “I need eggs, bacon and butter. Actually I might need bread too.”

  There was a deep flex of panic in my gut when I said it but I acknowledged it and let it pass. I could do this. I could eat the food that I craved and be in control. I could be brave and I could be naked and I could be…strong. I could do anything after what I’d done with Nadia. That thought provided an urgent but fleeting urge to laugh and laugh.

  Sunny blinked and then nodded. She moved fast as if I might change my mind and run out of her store. “Sure thing. I even have organic. I started buying from the local farm for my customers concerned with organics and animal treatment and supporting local farms and all that jazz. I have to say,” she rambled. “Best. Bacon. Ever. It’s from Marshall Family Farm about an hour away. Can you imagine that just an hour away is a farm?”

  “Yum. Count me in. In fact I don’t get out much…” My face colored at that understatement of the year. “So give me two packs of bacon and two dozen eggs and two pounds of butter.”

  That should be enough for three or four years… the bitch voice in my head said. I ignored it. When it told me with great fear and doom that I’d get fat I ignored that too.

  I inspected her bread selection while she gathered my stuff. I found a hearty country white wrapped like it was fresh made. No commercial labels. Just a hand-labeled sticker that said COUNTRY WHITE.

  “I make those,” she said, blushing. “I usually bring in two or three dozen a week.”

  “They look good.”

  “I usually sell out before the week ends.”

  “I’ll take—”

  “Two?” she asked, smiling.

  At the counter I found honey from a local farm and preserves made by a woman in the neighborhood, according to Sunny.

  “The woman must be into witchcraft because I’m not sure how she can make some fruit and raw sugar and pectin taste so good.”

  She rang me up and I saw her cloth bags. Patchwork totes that were bright and fun and made me happy just to look at them. “If I’m buying local I might as well be green too. I’ll take one of these.” I picked a bag with red gingham and a funky paisley and some brightly colored felt and another fabric that looked Indian.

  “Oh you can have one. I’m so damn happy to have you here. And buying food. Real food! Not food for bunnies or hamsters.”

  “I’m trying…” Trying to what? Fix myself? Heal myself? Find myself? Finally I shrugged. “I’m just trying,” I said.

  “Good for you. I’m glad. You deserve something yummy. For your body and your soul. Oh and thanks for the notes you gave me to help my nephew. He aced physical science.”

  I grinned. “Awesome.”

  “In fact take two bags. One for your groceries. One for your help.”

  I took one that had butterflies and flowers mixed with polka dots and stripes. I felt like one of them. A butterfly changing. Or a flower blooming. Whatever you wanted to call it, parts of me were feeling fresh and new.

  I walked home with a bag in each hand. I was only a block away when a car slowed behind me. At first I felt that prickle of anxiety that it was Richard—come to get me. Especially holding food of all things. The fear of discovery skittered beneath my skin.

  I tried my best to shake it off and turned to see who it was. Most likely a resident waiting to pull into the curbside parking spot where I was standing.

  It was Matt. I felt the leap of blood in my throat and a brief stagger in my chest. My heart was alert and drunken at his closeness.

  “Hey, pretty lady. What do you have there?”

  “Food.” I almost whispered it as if this man would judge me. This man was why I had food to begin with.

  “What’s that?”

  “Food,” I said a bit louder.

  He grinned. “Good food?”

  “I hope so. Everything in here is from my list of evil foods. But I hope they are good. I hope to claim them as good.”

  “Whatcha making, Clara?”

  I stared at his lips. They looked so kissable, so plump and sexy and inviting. My pussy flexed slowly with want. My body apparently thought I was going to get lucky. Not so.

  “Bacon and egg on buttered toast.”

  “What? No cheese!”

  I laughed then, toeing the snow almost shyly. “I have cheese at home. Just a bit. Parmesan. It’s hard and it’s lower in fat but I do happen to like it very much.”

  He leveled a finger at me. “Next time get Havarti or something. Something gooey and decadent. Live it up. But Clara…”

  “Yeah?” I felt cold flakes collecting in my eyelashes. My teeth were starting to chatter.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  I turned my face so he couldn’t read my expression. “Thanks,” I said to the street.

  “I’d offer you a ride but I’m not allowed.”

  That made me bark with laughter and then he was pulling away. Leaving me to walk in the muffled world while snow dotted my skin and made me shiver.

  Which was fine. I didn’t mind. I was enjoying myself.

  * * * * *

  There is something to be said for cooking bacon and eggs wearing nothing but an apron.

  Otis Redding crooned to me in the background as bacon sizzled. The intoxicating scent of it filled my house. My friend Kim called bacon the gateway meat. If you were off meat or eating healthy or all that stuff, the smell of bacon could bring you to your knees.

  It didn’t escape me that when I started to assemble my decadent sandwich my hands started to shake. My fingers trembled as I buttered my thick white toast. My stomach quivered as I put bacon and Parmesan on and then I damn near dropped the egg when I tried to slide it onto the top of my sandwich.

  I stood and stared at my gorgeous midafternoon snack as if it were a loaded gun.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  I stared at it more, warring with myself and then Otis put it in my head. A change is gonna come…

  I was ready. For change. It might be hard and it might make me squeamish but oddly I felt I had a new person in my corner. A man who sketched me naked. A man who sent me a pretty dark-haired girl to help me. A man who…got me? Was that possible? And where had he come from? Boom! He’s been dropped right into my lap from nowhere. Maybe the universe’s way of telling me to move forward because this broken life wasn’t working for me anymore.

  It’s all we want, all of us—people who get us.

  I carried the sandwich to the breakfast bar and set myself a place while the hot egg and bacon made the Parmesan gooey. I put out a red-and-white checkered placemat, a cloth napkin, salt and pepper shakers. And then I ditched the apron and sat naked at my island counter. The computer was off and Otis’s rich smooth voice filled my house. I picked up the sandwich I had created. A monster in food form. But one I could slay.

  I took a bite. A single bite and tried to taste it all. Crisp homemade white toast, sweet local butter, sharp Parmesan cheese and crispy bacon topped by a runny egg. Heaven.

  Immediately my body revolted with panic. It was too much. Too much food, too much fat, too much! But I took another bite. My mind tried to convince me I was full. Surely I was full. I set the sandwich down, chewing my mouthful slowly, deliberately. I took a big swig of my lemon water and took a deep breath.

  I picked it back up despite the surge of anxiety in my stomach. I took another bite. I would stop when my stomach told me I was full, not my chattering mind. Not my censor. Not my critic. My body itself.
r />   I made it two-thirds of the way through when my stomach confirmed I actually was full. And what had been a decadent albeit terrifying sandwich became something I couldn’t fathom eating. I dumped it, licked my fingers, wiped crumbs from my breasts.

  The CD had ended and I heard nothing but the silent snowy world outside and the distant hushed rush of traffic. My phone burbled and I read the text, looking up toward the window as an afterthought.

  Matt waved to me before turning from his half-fogged windowpane.

  “GORGEOUS” was all the text said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Got it?”

  “I got it?” my student Sam said.

  “Is that a statement or a question?” I laughed. I sipped my tea and realized I was hungry for dinner. My mind immediately turned to that tuna and lettuce but then it pogoed joyfully to Chinese food.

  Oh no. I couldn’t. Could I?

  “That’s a statement,” Sam said. “I even understand the genetics stuff you sent me notes on.”

  “Then I am a miracle worker,” I teased him. Sam was a student I helped via email and phone conference. He was sixteen, smart as a whip but sort of lazy. So he mentally checked out in about half his classes and I had to make him check back in. His mother was threatening to make him get a job to pay for my help.

  “You are, Clara. I owe you a pound of chocolate.”

  At this point, I just might eat it…

  “No worries. I think you owe your mom a few good grades more though. Now go have some fun. Blow some aliens up on Xbox or something.”

  “You should get an Xbox,” he said and I could hear him smile.

  “I’m not a blowing-up-stuff kind of gal,” I said.

  “Yeah, but you don’t get out…much. So you could wear the headset and talk to whoever you like whenever you want. No matter what you’re doing. You totally do not need to blow shit up.”

  “Sam!” I heard Mrs. Britton in the background.

  “Sorry, Ma,” he laughed. “Stuff.”

  “Yeah, well just so you know, Mr. Smarty Pants, I am getting out a bit more these days. Maybe even more soon,” I said with a mix of excitement and terror.

  “Oh yeah? Good for you!” God bless that kid, he sounded sincere.

  “Good. For. You, darling!” his mother said in the background.

  “Hi, Mrs. Britton,” I called.

  “Hello, darling! I hope you find a handsome man!”

  I rolled my eyes but smiled when Sam groaned like he was being tortured.

  “Jeez, Ma.”

  “You never know, Mrs. Britton,” I said, just to torture my student.

  “TMI! TMI!” Sam said and laughing we all said our goodbyes and hung up.

  Thirty minutes later when the doorbell rang I took my money to the door. The Chinese restaurant up the street had fast service and I opened the door to the sinfully fragrant smell of hot Chinese food. I paid the man, tipped him well and was just about to shut the door when I looked up to see tall brown boots over tight black jeans and a big chartreuse sweater.

  At the top of this vision were a smiling face and a dark cap of hair. The snow had stopped. Nadia’s breath plumed out of her as she waved to me from the sidewalk.

  “Hey!” I felt that falling, tumbling sensation low in my belly, and my pussy flexed when I remembered the feel of her mouth on me. Which was an easy thing to do when I looked at her.

  “Hey, girl.” She looked gorgeous and curvy in her jeans. She was a vision with rosy cheeks and shining eyes. The way she stood right under one of the iron streetlights she looked almost angelic, but with shadows tattooed on her face.

  “What’s up? I see you are eating some actual food.” She cocked her head. “Good for you.”

  My throat grew tight because I knew she meant it. It was a sincere statement. Not some therapist who’d been paid to tell me from his textbook how to deal with my fear and problems.

  “Want some?” I wiggled the bag at her. I was sure she’d come in. She hadn’t come all this way to wave to me from the street. From all I knew—which wasn’t much, I realized—she didn’t live around here.

  “Can’t. I’m going in to see the man.” She nodded to Matt’s door and I was startled to recognize a stab of sadness followed by a burst of jealousy in my chest.

  “Oh. Cool. Well, have fun. And you know where I am if you change your mind. I heard their food is to die for.”

  “We’ll be calling you,” she said softly and smiled. Then she walked to Matt’s door, her boots barely making a sound because a thin layer of snow still covered the walk.

  His door popped open and when he leaned out to say something to her, he saw me. “Hey, Miss Clara,” he called, sounding a bit wistful.

  Again I wondered why we were putting ourselves through this. But then I felt that curiosity again. “Hey there, Matt. Have fun,” I called, half meaning it. I couldn’t help it that I felt greedy. I wanted him. I wanted her. And the fact that they were getting together—even though their relationship preceded me by years and years—made me feel the odd man out. Like I’d been shunned.

  I shut the door and inhaled the scent of hot food, wondering if I really had the stomach for it after all.

  I was curled in my overstuffed easy chair, away from the kitchen window, playing with my food more than eating it when the phone rang.

  I had a brief and fleeting thought to not answer it. A petulant “that will show them” feeling I hadn’t felt since grade school. But I went and I answered anyway, grabbing my cell phone from the kitchen counter. My window showed me a blank kitchen window on Matt’s side of the alleyway.

  “Hello?” I was confused.

  “Go upstairs to your bathroom, doll face,” Nadia said. “I mean, providing you’re still in and you still want Matt to be allowed to play during this stand-in thing. Tonight I get to be you.”

  I swallowed hard and said, “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “You still in?”

  “I am.”

  “You still want him to get his?”

  “I do,” I said. It was only fair. But I’d be a bald-faced liar if I didn’t admit that part of me wanted to say no. Not him. Just me. Me-me-me-me! But I simply said, “Give me a minute.”

  I hung up though they’d have to call me back. Or I’d have to call them. But I wanted to sever that connection long enough to get myself together. In the living room I took some deep breaths and steadied my nerves. Up in my bathroom, I turned on the light with trembling fingers and walked to the tall window.

  Nadia was leaning on his radiator that like mine sat right beside the window. She waved and I waved back. She wore a bra and boyshorts and Matt was in a pair of cutoff sweatpants. When he waved to me I wanted to touch him. To kiss him. To call uncle and run next door and fuck him.

  Instead I hit the button to call him so we could do this.

  “How are you, Clara?” he asked by way of answering.

  “I’m hanging in,” I said. I chewed my lip, studied Nadia and her nice body. Richly colored skin, bold curves, lush breasts, dark hair and full lips. I wanted so badly to be jealous of her but couldn’t manage it.

  “How was your food?” she asked. “As good as expected?”

  I felt as if her dark eyes could penetrate me from there. Not just my words but the worry in my soul and the excitement in my belly and the swirling confusion in my head.

  “Mostly…”

  “I’m proud of you that you ate it at all,” she said.

  I recalled her confession to me and pride filled me. “Thanks.”

  “Now are you ready to see Mr. Matt get him some?”

  I wanted to ask what that meant. Would he fuck her? Would she fuck him? Push him back and ride him so that I could see? Would he put her hands to the window and take her from behind the way Nadia had taken me?

  Instead of any of those questions I simply said, “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Sure, Clara?” he asked. He was smiling just a little. How h
e could even question it with a woman like Nadia sitting there in her underthings was beyond me.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He took a few steps back from the window and leaned against the lip of his tub. It was a clawfoot tub like mine. Most of these homes had them. And they were taller and deeper and heavier than most standard modern tubs.

  He crossed his legs and Nadia moved toward him slowly. She was sinew and smoke, muscle and magic. She moved like a predator cat and I was torn between watching her and watching him.

  Her fingers curled, brown and thin, against his waistband and his paler skin. She tugged gently and he lifted his hips up enough so that she could pull the sweat shorts down. He was bare underneath.

  Nadia grazed her lips over his. He kissed her back gently but his eyes were on me through the window. I wondered again if anyone ever roof hopped. If anyone could ever see this stuff when it happened. I was startled to notice that part of me hoped yes, part of me hoped no. But the part of me that hoped yes tingled and buzzed with arousal.

  “Matt always tastes like wood smoke to me,” Nadia said over her shoulder in the general direction of the phone.

  I thought of him as saltwater and cold air. Two tastes that made little sense together.

  She kissed down his chest, over his belly. I could feel the muscles there fluttering lightly in my imagination, from when I’d touched him. I could smell him in my nose and feel his warm skin under my fingers.

  Nadia dropped to her knees on his black-and-white-tiled floor. His bathroom was a mirror of mine. I was looking down the rabbit hole into a world of weirdness and light.

  She settled between his spread thighs and took him in hand. From here I could see that he was hard and his cock was flushed. I could picture the clear and salty drop of pre-come at the tip of him. Whether it was there or not.

  “I’d like it if we all got off together, Clara,” he said into the empty air of his bathroom. It snaked through the phone and I found my boldness, pushed down my gray leggings and wool socks and settled my butt on the lip of my tub. Pretty much a female reflection if his posture.