FicWad

“Two phone calls in one day, what do I owe this honour?” Kate chuckled down the phone; I’d decided to let her know that I was going to be late home. I didn’t want her growing frantic with worry as the minutes ticked past the half five mark.

“Honey, I … I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” I played up the part of ‘doting husband’, “But trust me, I’ll be back as soon as possible”

“Oh. Ok, I’ll just order out. Yeah? What time will you be home?” I hit the phone against my head. Knowing full well that there was no reason for me to stay behind, there was no time limit for my dawdling.

“I shouldn’t be any later than seven” I respond, not really aware of what I was going to do with the extra two hours. Normally, I leave work at five and I’m home between twenty past and half past. What am I getting myself into?

“Sure thing, Hun” In some ways, I was a little disappointed that she didn’t challenge me. That she didn’t become hysterical with jealousy and vow not to sleep until she’d brought whatever bitch I was sleeping with to justice. But then again, it was only me that knew that something fishy was going on.

“See you later” I rung off. The one thing I can claim to be is efficient, and that everything that needs to be done is done before someone calls me on it. This meant that any filing that would’ve needed doing already was, and was done well, I might add.

It was nearly clocking off time, even though we didn’t have a clocking off system. I sat at my desk, completely still, and awaited the unavoidable. I’d have to make up some excuse, like I did it during a free period before clients. At one minute past five, a knock on my door rang through the still and quiet office.

“Come in” I barked, a little too harsh for what was meant to be a light, but professional, environment.

“Hey there” She glided into the room.

“Hey,” I started to apologise, “Look, I’m sorry if you’ve rung your boyfriend to say you’re running late or whatever but I did the filing earlier. Sorry, I forgot to mention it. Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I don’t mind. Oh, by the way, who told you I had a boyfriend?” My heart sunk and I’m not sure why, I’m married, why would it matter if she had a boyfriend?

“Nobody … I assumed because …” I shrugged and allowed the sentence to trail off.

“Oh, well I don’t.” My head snapped up to look at her, hope rising through my body and choking me as I went to speak.

“You … You don’t?” To my utter joy, she shook her head.

“Look, I know your married, so I’m not coming onto you but … Would you like to, I dunno, go grab a coffee or something?” She still seemed a bit reserved or nervous, but smiled lightly at me. Her head bowed as she smiled, her little smile blessed me with a view of her white teeth. I was taken aback by her beauty for a moment, but quickly snapped out of it.

“Yeah, where do you want to go?” I took the lead, opening the door for her and flicking the light switch on my way out. She told me about this back street café that was almost always seemed deserted; she said it made the best, absolutely mind-blowing, lattes she’d ever drank and the most mouth-watering chocolate fudge cake she’d ever tasted.

I parked my Honda Civic in a parking lot nearby and allowed myself to be led to what would soon become an old haunt. The placed smelt delicious from twenty paces, it was evident that they baked everything on the premises. It smelt of a deep rich coffee, the scents blended, dark chocolate aromas hit my senses in the most wonderful way and I became hungry for everything Beth had told me about.

We walked in and found a table, which wasn’t a difficult task; Beth had been right when she’d said about the place being deserted. Café Sanjeré was very rustic and wouldn’t have looked out of place if it had stood on the cobbled streets of Havana. Behind the counter stood a woman that was in her mid twenties, she had a light tan, there was a small amount of sweat on her face because of the hard work but it didn’t faze her, she smiled through it all. Her name tag said her name was ‘Rebecca’ but when I called her, trying to get her attention, she told me to call her ‘Becca’.

“Hi, I’m Becca Sanjeré, I own the place,” She swept her hands around, showing me the desolate café, “I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”

“Patrick. Now, my friend here,” I glanced at Beth, “Told me that you do the best Lattes and chocolate fudge cake in a twenty mile radius. So … could I have two of both?”

“Not a problem, I’ll bring them over right away. You want yours warm again Beth?” She smiled at Beth, who nodded, and then turned back to me, “How about you?”

“Yes please. Do you two know each other?” I asked, feeling a tad confused.

“Yeah, we go way back. Don’t we Beth?” She laughed, “I’ll go get your coffee and cake”

“I used to work here, before I got my job at the hospital. I was going to use the money to set myself up in college, but I … changed my mind. Becca’s dad was in charge when I worked here though, but he died about a year ago.” She seemed slightly pained as she told me, I placed a hand on hers but took it away soon after because she’d started to blush.

“How did your friend cope?” The conversation wasn’t force, and for the first time in a long time I felt comfortable just talking.

“For a while, she didn’t. She broke down and so did I, I liked Mr. Sanjeré” She smiled softly; I could tell she was thinking about a fond memory.

“It was tough when my dad died. I still miss him. He was best man at my wedding, and in so many ways he was the best man. He was definitely my best friend. I could talk to him about anything, you know? He wasn’t preoccupied with what other people thought, he was worried about me.” I wasn’t sure why I’d revealed all of that. I hadn’t even told Kate all of that, she knew we were close, but not that I was still grieving in so many ways.

“How did he die?” She inquired, quite sensitively.

“He … He … He was run over. It was a hit and run, there was no one around to get the number plate and whoever knocked him down left him to die” I felt myself welling up, “It really wasn’t his time.”

“Oh God, I’m really sorry! When did this happen?” She gushed.

“About a year and a half ago. I guess I’m not grieving anymore, but it’s still hard to cope … Sometimes” Was I trying to make her feel sorry for me?

Becca soon came over with the coffees and cakes. Beth was in no way wrong; every word she uttered had been true and then some. The lattes weren’t just milky, they were creamy. They still had the coffee kick that every over-25 year old needed and when I added my two sugars it was practically an orgasm in a cup. Ah, those three words I long to hear, the three words that will never be the same after tonight: Chocolate Fudge Cake.

The cake was, in one word, yummy. It lasted no more than two minutes, and had I not been too afraid of looking like a fat ass I would have ordered another piece. Because Becca had warmed it up, the chocolate cream that was in the middle of each layer seemed to melt as it hit my tongue. The fudge and chocolate combination was always one of my favourites, but now, topped my list. Looking over to Beth, I could tell she was experiencing exactly the same thing.

“That’s … Good … No! Great … Cake” I sighed, placing my fork back onto the plate after scraping away every last morsel.

“Told you so,” She nodded, satisfied that she’d managed to impress me with her café selection, “Want another coffee? I’ll pay this time.”

“Don’t you dare!” I acted in a mock-offended manner, “There is no way your going to pay for anything tonight after showing me such a heavenly place.”

“You sure?” She seemed uncomfortable with me paying.

“Yeah, ok, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll make sure you’re allowed to pay for your own things next time we come here” I grin broadly, I was more content now than ever. Normally I felt anxious, tense and worried about everything. But today? Today I felt … I felt calm.

“Next time?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Uh … If you want.” Stomach lurching, butterflies back, calm feeling gone.

“Sure, next time. How about tomorrow?” I sighed, relaxing again.

“Sounds very, very good. On one condition,” Putting on a deathly serious face I looked at her intently, “As long as we come back here”

“Done” She held out her hand for me to shake it. We sat at that table for ages talking about everything and nothing, the conversation ventured into many weird and wonderful destinations and sometimes bordered on the downright silly. I laughed so much that evening, and Ray was no where in sight.

We talked about music. She told me about how she, at one point, followed Bon Jovi across the country just to see him in concert. I’d told her about how I secretly loved the Goo Goo Dolls, not even my wife knew, and she agreed that they were amazing. She had seen them herself when they had done a tour with, you guessed it, Bon Jovi.

We spoke about films. She’d told me that she claimed her favourite movie was Breakfast At Tiffany’s, but really it was The Lost Boys. Her friends had never been into the whole horror-comedy genre and hadn’t really understood her attraction to Keifer Southerland in the eighties, and sure enough in 24. When she asked about my favourite film, I blushed a deep, deep shade of red. My favourite movie had been City Of Angels for about four years, I’d originally watched it because the GGD were in the soundtrack but had fallen in love with it. No word of a lie, trust me – there’s no reason to lie abut this, I cried every time I saw it.

We’d been at Café Sanjeré for two hours before I took any notice of my watch. It was quarter to eight and I was very late. Kate was going to be incredibly pissed off and I still had to drop Beth home, I speedily explained to her my predicament and agreed that we should head home. I gave her a lift home and kept as close to the top end of the speed limit as I could without going over. I parked my Honda up in the driveway and bottled it; I sat for what seemed to be hours. My question is this: would you have the guts to tell your pregnant wife and partner of five years it’s over?