Confessions From A Coffee Shop (25 page)

“I used to wait until the last second. It was like a challenge for me. That day, I gave up challenging myself when it came to bodily functions.”

“You’re such a nerd.” Kat took my hand and led us back to the group.

“How did you convince everyone not to wear underwear?”

Kat smiled. “I only told two of them not to.”

“Which two?”

Kat grinned, and then left me to rejoin the group.

Chapter Fourteen

After my final shift at Beantown Café, I felt like a whole new woman. I sat at my computer, staring at a blank screen. Hours earlier I had come up with the perfect way to end my novel, but sitting with the document open, my fingers froze on the keyboard. Not a word came to mind. Not even a single consonant or a syllable.

Why was this happening? The first 60,000 words had come in a flood. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I just wrote. I hadn’t written another word that was worthwhile since then. Oh, I tried, but as soon as I was done, I deleted whatever progress I made. It was garbage, complete and total poppycock! Stuff even Danielle Steele would have laughed at‌—‌and I wasn’t even writing a romance. “Literary fiction” is the term these days, now that every book has to conform to a genre. I didn’t like the phrase the first time I heard of it, and I still don’t today. Did Dickens sit down and say, “I’m going to write some literary fiction?” Did Austen think, “I’ll try writing a romance novel?” Charlotte Bronte: “Gothic, yes gothic!” I hated that everything had to fit into a genre.

A year ago, I was at least getting words on the screen. Now, I just stared, horrified by my inability to conceive any words. I tossed a baseball, the ball I had caught at the Sox game weeks ago, from hand to hand as I pondered my dilemma. I had experienced this same ennui in school, whenever I’d had a paper due. What helped was having a deadline. If I didn’t turn the paper in I would get an F, and that thought forced me to write. I needed something I was terrified of. What terrified me?

Mom.

If I failed, my mom would never let me forget it. An idea struck me. Sitting up in my desk chair, I opened my email. Yet my fingers failed me again, and I didn’t know how to start.

“I don’t hear any clicking and clacking on the keyboard going on.”

I turned in my chair, sighing heavily. “I just don’t know, Kat. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a writer.”

She sat down on my desk and picked up the baseball, examining the scuff marks on it. She seemed at a loss for words.

“Tell me why you write,” she said finally.

I laughed. “That’s just it, I don’t write anything anymore. I can’t even compose a fucking email.”

“Okay.” My tone obviously put Kat on edge, and she didn’t try to coax me in her usual sweet-talk way. “Tell me why you used to write.”

“Used to. That’s a good way of putting it. Let’s see…‌why did I used to write?” Nothing came to mind

“Let’s start this way. Why do you hate dental billing?”

“Are you serious?” I gave her my “don’t be daft” look.

“Come on, you loathe doing it. I see it in your face every time you head in here. It won’t hurt my feelings just because my father’s a dentist.”

“Its mindless work, and I need a challenge.”

“I’m assuming that’s the same way you felt about Beantown Café.”

“Pretty much. I prefer billing over that, though, because I don’t have to interact with customers in person.”

“Do you like teaching?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I shrugged.

“You guess. You either like it or you don’t.”

“I like it. It lets me share my passion for books.”

“Is it what you want to do for the rest of your life?” She tossed the ball to me.

I caught it one-handed. “Yes, but …”

“But, what?”

“Not just that.”

“What else?” Kat smiled waiting for the answer.

“I want to write.”

“Then write, Cori.”

I sighed. “If only it were that easy.”

“It is.”

I started to say something, but she waved me off.

“Listen, if you truly have passion, you have to find a way to uncork it,” she said. “The only thing stopping you is you.” She reached over and tapped my forehead. “Get out of your head.”

My computer chimed, and Kat nearly jumped out of her skin. Then she teased, “You see, even your computer knows it’s time.”

“Very funny, wise guy.” I glanced at the screen. It was an email from my mother.

Groaning, I opened it. The email read: “When you start your blog, use this photo for your profile.”

Mom had attached a photo of me sitting at my aunt’s desk, writing notes on a pad of paper.

Kat grinned foolishly. “You see, everyone believes in you. Do you remember when you asked your mom if she blogged? When you left the room, she was thrilled that you were considering starting one. She actually said, ‘Finally, she’s taking it seriously.’”

“What does she mean, ‘finally’?”

“Cori, stop! Just stop.” She stood up and placed both hands on my cheeks. “Your mother loves you and she wants you to succeed. Your aunt loves you and she wants you to succeed. Your father loves you and wants you to succeed. And I love you, and I want you to succeed.”

I stroked one of her hands lovingly. “What about my uncle?”

“He just wants to fuck every skirt he sees.” She laughed, but her eyes conveyed sadness.

“You need to get out of your head. Open up‌—‌let those around you see who you really are,” she added. “And let people who are close to you open up too. Stop slamming the door every time someone hints about having feelings, fears, desires, or whatnot. Let people in. Even your mother.” Her eyes told me she wanted me to let her in as well.

I gently pulled her down onto my lap. Running my fingers through her hair, I said, “Thank you, Kat. How long have you wanted to say that to me?”

She pushed her head off my chest and stared into my eyes, “Oh, from the moment I met you. I love you, Cori, but you are a difficult person to get to know. If it wasn’t for your mother, I would have left long ago.”

“Ah, so you do have the hots for my mom. Is it the saggy boobs or the wobbly neck that does it for you?” I pinched her side gently.

“Neither. She reads cowboy porn.”

I groaned. “Don’t remind me.” I put my palms up. “Not right now. Right now, I want to do this.” I kissed her. When our lips met, I found her tongue was greedy to be inside me. Tasting her, I felt a release of emotions. Moments passed, and our desire intensified, yet I wanted to take things slow and not rush through the motions. I wanted to enjoy each blissful second. I pulled back to gaze into her gray eyes.

“What, do you need to work?” she asked sweetly, but her voice sounded disappointed.

“No, sweetheart. I just wanted to look at you.”

I had never seen her eyes light up like they did just then. I ran my fingers down the side of her face and over the front of her shirt, never taking my eyes off hers. She was wearing one of my shirts, and I was glad because I could savor every button, undoing them slowly to prolong the moment. The idea of just ripping a shirt off over her head repulsed me. I wanted to reveal her body as if it were the first time.

Kat’s expression conveyed that she understood. Still on my lap, she watched me, her gray eyes sensually low-lidded as I undid the buttons. My fingers explored the milky skin along her neck. The second button gave me a glimpse of cleavage, but I held off and kissed her tenderly, my lips finding her neck and the base of her throat.

Kat let out a slight gasp. Just tasting her skin sent tingles down my body. I ached for her. Forcing the thought out of my mind, I continued my exploration.

Another button freed her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and I felt my heart throb in my throat. I had always appreciated her size, but tonight, the tiny freckles dotting the tops of her breasts invigorated me. With one finger, I tried connecting all the spots. I left a single freckle on her left breast for last. Instead of caressing it with my fingertip, I kissed it softly. Then I put my tongue to it, licking it seductively. I felt Kat’s body tense, wanting more but also enjoying the moment. Satisfied, I let my tongue stroke up to her nipple, and bit it playfully. She moaned, but I stopped abruptly to kiss her lips again. She kissed me back, passionately, clenching her fingers in my hair, holding the back of my head. We continued kissing for many moments.

When a lack of oxygen forced a breather, I leaned back against the chair, admiring the top half of her body.

Kat watched me watch her, amused.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re looking at me as if you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I tickled the side of her face, and she placed her hand on top of mine, keeping it there.

“It’s good.” Her eyes bored into mine.

“Shall we move into the bedroom? I’ve only seen half of you.”

Kat stood and took my hand, leading me into the bedroom, her hips twisting sensually the entire distance as she walked. She sat on the bed and began to remove the shirt completely.

“Patience, Kat. Patience.” I stopped her.

“Whatever has gotten into you tonight, I like it.”

“Well, relax and enjoy. Tonight is all about you.”

Hours later, lying in bed, I asked, “What did you mean earlier, when you said if it wasn’t for my mother you would have left long ago?”

Her head on my chest, she said, “She convinced me that if I stuck around I would finally worm my way inside, overcome your stubborn, independent streak.” Kat drummed her fingers along my side.

Squirming, I shouted, “Hey, stop! That’s not fair.”

But she had me pinned, and she wouldn’t stop tickling.

“I’m not stubborn, and I’m not independent.”

That got Kat’s attention. “Do you really think that?”

The look she gave me made my heart stop briefly. Had I really been so close to losing her right from the start?

“What evidence do you have that I’m too independent?”

“For the first sixth months we dated, you refused to stay over the entire night, saying you couldn’t sleep unless you were in your own bed.”

“Well, that’s true!”

“Then why didn’t you invite me to your place? For weeks I didn’t even know where you lived.”

“Oh, that’s not true; I had you over for dinner.”

Kat laughed. “And then you took me to a movie, and we went back to my apartment to fuck.”

“Did I really do that?”

“Yes!” She slapped my shoulder, but at least she then placed her head back on my chest. “It drove me batty. Here I was falling head over heels in love with you, and you would let me in some and then push me away again.”

“We moved in together,” I argued. “You now live in my place‌—‌I mean, our place.”

“You see!” Kat sat up. “You still think of this as
your
place, and I’ve been living here for two years.” She pouted playfully.

“But you won, didn’t you?”

“I won? What do you mean by that, Cori?” The playfulness left her voice.

I needed to backpedal, and fast. “I’m here, with you, and I couldn’t be happier.”

The smile returned to her face. “For the moment, yes.”

Her words felt like a slap across the face. “I …”

Kat placed two fingers on my mouth. “Shush. Not tonight, Cori. I said my piece, and you actually listened. That’s good enough for now. Baby steps.”

Kat drifted off to sleep while I held her. My body was tired from the love-making, but my mind would not shut off. Was it possible I didn’t know myself or what I had been doing?

An idea struck me like a hundred-pound pole, whacking me in the back of the head. I didn’t know my main character. I didn’t know her story. If I didn’t know her story, how could I know the ending? That was it!

I kissed the top of Kat’s head and gently wiggled free, not that she noticed. A sliver of drool snaked from her mouth, and to be honest, she looked lovely‌—‌drool and all.

A draft of my novel sat on my desk, and for months I had been tweaking it, molding it, trying to force it to be something it wasn’t. I understood that now. Picking up the first sheet, I ripped it in half. Then I ripped it into fourths. I kept tearing it apart until the pieces were too tiny to bisect. Not done, I shredded the entire manuscript, feeding several pages into the shredder at once, all the while smiling like a woman possessed. I knew how to do it now, but before I could begin, I needed to obliterate the original.

Once I had completed that task, I switched on the computer to delete the file. For a second, my hand froze on the mouse.

Are you sure you want to delete this file? The console asked me.

Forcefully, I left-clicked the mouse.

Gone!

It was the first time in months I had felt good about writing, and all I had done was completely destroy my novel. Ah, life and its ironies. No matter, it was time to get to work.

The first tap of the keyboard was euphoric. The words poured from my fingertips onto the computer screen. Nothing stopped me for hours. Even when I noticed the dark sky giving way to the dawning of a new day, my fingers didn’t stop.

“My, you are engrossed.” Kat’s sweet voice momentarily paused the words that flowed from my fingers. She placed both hands on my shoulders, leaned down, and kissed the top of my head.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” I nuzzled one of her hands with my chin, enjoying the warmth of her skin. I hadn’t realized how cold I was.

“What’s all this paper all over the floor?”

“My novel.” I said casually.

“Your novel! You shredded your novel?” Kat’s eyes bugged out at the mess.

“It’s okay, Kat. Trust me. I’m writing a new one. One I can finish.”

The tension left her body, and she leaned over my shoulder to peer at the screen. “You’ve already written over twenty pages.”

“Really?” I squinted at the page number on the lower left-hand corner. “I hadn’t realized. No wonder my back hurts.” I stood and stretched.

Kat grinned and tickled my exposed stomach.

“You want some coffee?” I asked. “I’m going to need gallons to stay awake so I can help my aunt at the gallery today.”

Kat looked away, staring at one of her paintings she had given me early on in our relationship. “Sure, but let me make it.”