Phillip

The only thing I could think of this week was: did I screw everything up by pushing Nata to have real sex with me? I know she liked it. I felt how much she liked it. But you don't actively avoid a person you've had fantastic sex with. I get it. Her ovulation period is over. We don't have to be in the same space physically, but after she let me touch her the right way, after she moaned my name, I thought things would change. My fingers tingle from the memory of being inside her. So does my dick. I take out another cigarette and light up. The sky is still dark, no birds, no neighbors talking, and only an occasional distant noise of a vehicle breaks the almost perfect silence of our backyard.

I take a long drag. The smoke fills my throat and envelops the feeling of failure that I've been carrying in my chest for the last couple of days when Nata's only answers to my texts were 'I'm very busy at the moment, let's talk later.' I crank my head back and let a long stream of smoke out of my mouth. Even the tendrils of it floating in the air appear as heavy as the worries on my mind.

I picked up smoking as a teen because my cool friends were doing it. These days, I'm no longer the cool one, standing in a plastic enclosure by our building at work, that is the only designated smoking place at the office. Even though Dad found out I smoke before I graduated college, I was never allowed to smoke at Dad's house. One of the nice things about moving into this duplex is that at least I can enjoy my smokes when everything in my life seems to be going sideways.

Nata and I were supposed to be this power couple. Without being the actual couple and dealing with the bullshit that comes with coupledom. I thought her enjoying sex would demolish any walls remaining between us. Somehow, it built them higher. We're back to the acquaintances stage. I watch the glow of my cigarette light up the darkness around me as I inhale. My shoulders are so tense they almost touch my ears. I stub the butt into the ashtray and turn my head to Nata's side of the deck. I don't understand what she wants. How are we supposed to get to know each other if we only see one another for the three days out of the month during her ovulation period? I've waited long enough. I'm going to do what I do best: persuade her to spend time with me.

The light from her kitchen window illuminates the deck. I sit up in the chair. Nata must be up. Time to begin implementing my plan. Getting up at five a.m. and smoking through most of my pack waiting for her better be worth it. Ready or not, here I come, neighbor.

I sneak back into my side and approach the coffee machine like it's a new piece of lab equipment we sell. I grind, tamp down, wait—just like Mrs. Buckingham showed me when I visited Dad this week. The side effects from his meds are in full force. If I'm not working or sleeping, I'm there with him.

Mrs. Buckingham is the only person Dad seems to listen to these days. Making coffee and foaming the milk appeared easy with her by my side. Without her, the machine doesn't want to comply. I manage to get a coffee-adjacent liquid into the cup and top it off with the regular milk I now have in my fridge. It looks like bath foam. I spill the top layer as I carry the cup from my side to Nata's.

I knock on the sliding glass door.

"Phillip? Why are you awake?" Nata's wearing a towel wrapped around her head, a T-shirt that clearly shows she's not wearing a bra, and long PJ pants with snowflakes that cover up her legs. I imagined her sleeping in short shorts or some lingerie with lace, like the one she was wearing in San Francisco. My dick doesn't care what she's wearing, because it's commanding me to take every piece of clothes off her. I clutch the cup in my hands tighter and hope she can't see my growing boner.

I return my gaze above her collarbone and raise the cup in my hands. "Coffee?"

Nata stays on her side of the door but takes my offering and sips. Her eyebrows furrow. "What did you make?"

"I was going for a latte."

Nata takes another sip and tries to hide what she thinks about my failed attempt at a latte. "This is...thank you for making it."

Fuck. This isn't how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to ply her with coffee, get her talking, invite her over so she can be next to the counter in my kitchen.

She offers me the still full cup back. "I'll be fine with my drip."

I don't take the cup. "You can come make a proper latte at my place."

She shakes her head in a polite 'no.'

"Show me how it's done?" I go for her tutor mentality. She loves teaching people how to do things.

Nata looks at the coffee percolating on her countertop and the clock on the wall. "It's Saturday. I don't have to be at work at a specific time." She takes a third sip of the coffee I made and removes a brown bit that must be coffee grounds off her tongue. "I can show you how it's done. Quicky." She sets my cup on her counter and lifts a finger. "Give me a sec. I'll be right over." She slides the door shut in front of my face and disappears up the stairs.

Not the reaction I was aiming for but progress in the right direction. I retreat to my side of the deck and pull another cigarette out. Nata didn't smile, but she didn't tell me to leave either. My ruse with plying her with coffee might just work. Why then is my heart hammering against my breastbone? The sky turns dusty orange as the sun promises to rise. My bare foot taps on the wooden planks of the deck as breathe in the cigarette smoke, seeking the calm and solace in the familiar taste of the tobacco coating my mouth.

"No way." Nata's voice sounds behind my back.

I turn to her waving a hand in front of her scrunched nose, shooing the smoke away.

"You can't keep smoking here." She removes the cigarette out of my fingers and stubs it into the ashtray. "Or better not at all. If you want to be alive to parent our child, you need to promise me you are not going to smoke." If her volume keeps increasing with every word, she'll wake up the neighbors.

"That wasn't part of the deal."

Her towel is off. Her still damp hair is braided and hangs along her back. She sets her hands over her black-slacks-covered hips. "Maybe we should add it." The buttons on the maroon shirt she changed into are closed all the way to her chin.

She could play a strict professor role in my bedroom in this outfit where I'm her naughty grad student who would enjoy kissing every inch of her skin as I undo one button after the other. My hand inches to her jaw. I put a tendril of loose hair behind her ear. "I won't smoke around you, how about that?"

"No deal. I didn't realize smoking was another one of your vices. You have to promise you're going to seek treatment. There are patches. Pills. I'm sure you can do it. You won't want our kid to smoke, would you? Kids learn by example."

The image of the hypothetical child appears in my mind. Nata's dark brown eyes and high cheekbones. Her cute nose slightly spoiled by my too long bridge. Light brown hair. The image is almost like an apparition. "I'll look into it."

"And text me when you start the treatment."

I nod like an errant schoolchild. How can I be smooth and confident around everyone but her? It's like she sees past my bullshit. I'm good at persuading the people I don't care about to do what I want. I have hard time persuading Nata to do anything she doesn't already want to do. I already miss the smoke, but I bite the inside of my cheek and lead us into my kitchen.

Time to move onto step two of my 'make Nata spend time with me operation.' I could just ask her, but after the fiasco this morning has been so far, I won't risk it. Time to use the information Dustin gathered and seduce her into wanting to be around me more.

"After you." I motion her in with a smile that melted every layer of clothing off women before.

"One cup of a decent coffee, and I'm off to prep the solutions for Monday." She walks past me and through the door I left ajar.

Her hands fly around the espresso machine. I can see her using lab equipment with an equal amount of precision and attention.

"You look like a conductor at an opera house." My awkward attempt at steering the conversation where I need it to go doesn't seem to raise any suspicion.

Her face softens. "Are you an opera fan?" She spares me a quick glance and puts the metal container with milk under the steam.

Bingo.

Dustin said she used to be a ticket holder at the Chicago opera house. I don't know how he found out, but I also don't want to know how he found out. I move a flyer from the Met that just 'happens to be on the counter' her way.

"I have season tickets in New York." I got them originally to impress Dad, but it became an easy business expense and a place I could bring many of the potential customers who were into that kind of entertainment. I also have season seat membership for the Mets and the Knicks, as well as the New York Philharmonic.

"The Met?" She turns so abruptly she almost touches the nozzle of the frother, and those are hot.

"Careful." I steady her hand. "Our family has a box. Have you been?"

"One day."

"I can fly us over." I push the flyer closer to her.

"No." She shakes her head. "I'm not being one of those people who fly on a private jet to New York to see an opera."

My jaw slackens. She knows I have a private jet and the tickets. Is she set on jabbing at everything I do? "Sorry to disappoint you. I am one of those people." I tap my naked chest with my thumb. "Would flying 1st class commercial make you feel better?" I don't actually mean it, but the verbal jab comes out of my mouth before I can restrain myself. I keep calm around everyone else, but Nata, apparently.

Her gaze lingers on my chest long enough for the hope of a 'yes' from her lips to bubble up in my heart. Maybe my plan will work.

Nata faces the machine and turns the steamer off. "No."

Really? I know better than offer a nice dress as an incentive to get her to go. All the women I've been with needed more extravagant gift when I needed them to say yes to a trip I wanted and they weren't too keen on. With Nata that tactic wouldn't work. Instead of going big, I go small.

"How about I take you to the Lyric Opera of Chicago?" I step closer, hovering over her shoulder. Her original intent of teaching me forgotten, she pours the frothy milk into the cup with her espresso shot. I take her braid from her shoulder and move it to the middle of her back, making sure to touch the spot between her shoulder blades. "No flying required."

The tiny hitch in her breath is a good sign. Nata tastes her coffee and hums in pleasure. "I could be persuaded."

I can work with that.

"How did you get into the opera?" I whisper against her ear.

Dustin's file didn't have that information and my genuine curiosity about what make this puzzle of a woman tick kicks in.

"One thing my dad did is drag me to the opera with him." Nata twists and slips out of the cage of my torso. "I've been to opera houses all over the world and hated it at the beginning. Brining an eight-year-old to La Boheme where Mimi dies at the end?" Nata rolls her eyes. "But then it's a rare opera when someone doesn't die. Prepared me for the realities of life"—the corners of her mouth turn down, she sighs, and rotates the cup in her hand—"and life as a scientist I guess."

Making her sad wasn't part of the plan. I need to get us back to pleasure and cement our date. "I'll get Dustin on finding a date that works."

"Does he know everything about us?" She smirks.

Her lips even without the lipstick make me long to kiss them. Is it because that's the one thing I can't do with her? I want to stand next to her and run my hand along the curve of her hip. Instead, I stay in place and hide the return of my morning wood.

"You know how assistants are." I shrug. "They are part therapists—part parents."

"I don't." A shadow passes over her face. "Thank you for the coffee."

"You can come any time and make it. The code of the door is 0612. Mom's birthday."

"I won't barge in and make myself a cup at the crack of dawn." She scrunches her face like I'm saying nonsense. "That's not polite."

"I'm asking you to," I say. "Or I can have another machine installed at your place." I go for her love of not spending money.

"No. That's a waste of money."

Bingo again.

"What's the code?" I ask, barely hiding my glee at completing one more step in the operation 'make Nata spend more time with me.'

"0612," she says in a low voice.

"Use it." I lean against the counter. "We're family now."

6.16.2023

Author's Note

Next chapter gets into some backstory, but I think you guys are ready for that. It's just a tad past midnight for me, so I'm off to bed. Thank you for reading and supporting me. Looking forward to your comments, as awlays.

Love,

GR