Chapter 1: Chatting Over Coffee

It was five minutes after five o’clock on a Friday afternoon when Peter’s phone chimed. He looked to find exactly what he expected.

“Sorry, but I have to finish a few emails and then make a couple of phone calls to suppliers. I hope to be home by seven.”

Peter shook his head at the not unexpected message. His wife, Brandi, was always working late. Even on a Friday. He quickly pecked out his reply.

“No problem. I just put a casserole in the oven. I will turn down the temperature and let it slow cook until you are home. See you soon.”

Peter held his phone for a few moments after he clicked send but did not get a reply from Brandi. Frustrated, he went to the guest bedroom and dropped his phone on the nightstand. Their exercise bicycle was stationed in the corner. He turned on the television mounted in the other corner of the room and found a rerun of a 90s sitcom. He peeled off all his clothes other than his boxers and mounted the bike. He set the timer for forty-five minutes and began to pedal.

He thought about Brandi, sitting behind a rickety desk in a small office at a restaurant not more than five miles from the house. She was the manager of the restaurant but with the recent departure of the district manager, she was taking on more responsibilities with the hope of being named the new district manager. It also meant she was rarely home before eight or nine most nights. With Peter’s schedule requiring him to be online between six and seven in the morning they hardly spent any time together.

Peter took out his frustrations on the bike. At the thirty minute mark he was feeling good and increased the resistance. He also increased his pace. He sat forward on the bike seat and pounded his feet harder and harder. When the timer finally rang he was drenched in sweat and breathing hard. He continued to pedal for a few minutes to cool down before dismounting.

In the bedroom, Peter dropped his clothes in the hamper, then added his boxers. He turned on the shower and stood with his hand under the water waiting for it to warm. He thought that his frustrations were not only centered on the time Brandi spent at the office, all-consumed with her work, but also her complete disinterest in sex. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that the issue started the day after they got married almost twenty years ago. Sex dropped off to maybe once a month. He was living the old joke as to why the bride was smiling on her wedding day: “Because I just gave the last blow job of my life last night.”

He reached for the soap with the intent to masturbate but then reconsidered. Instead, he would hope Brandi was in the mood before bed and he would spend his load on her and not send it down the drain.

After showering, Peter returned to the living room and turned on the PlayStation. He mindlessly played a retro video game until he heard the garage door rumble open. It was 8:21.

“Sorry, I am later than I expected. That last supplier had so much to discuss that I could not get off the phone,” Brandi said as she trudged into the room and dropped heavily onto her chair.

Peter bit his tongue and did not offer the sarcastic reply that immediately came to mind. Instead, he got up and said, “Sit for a minute. I’ll get the table ready.”

He returned a few moments later and handed Brandi a glass of wine.

“Here, you can start with this.”

She took it and drained half of it with one gulp.

“OK, we’re all set.” He called a few minutes later.

Brandi sat at her chair at the table. The casserole was placed between their plates. A single candle was lit and centered on the table. Soft music could be heard from the speakers built into the wall.

“More wine?” asked Peter.

Brandi extended her glass.

Before taking her first bite, Brandi immediately launched into a detailed account of her day’s activities. Peter did not say more than two dozen words throughout dinner.

To Brandi’s credit, she put the silverware and plates into the washer and the more breakable items into the sink. She slipped out of her silky white blouse to avoid getting it wet and draped it over the doorknob leading into the pantry. Peter came up behind her and reached his hands over her shoulders and cupped her bra-clad breasts.

“What are you doing!” scalded Brandi. “I almost broke this wine glass.”

Peter stepped back and reached for the bra clasp. As soon as Brandi felt his fingers slip under the strap she scolded him again.

“Stop it! Let me finish washing these dishes. I also want to get out of these work clothes when I am done.”

Peter mumbled something about going to find a movie to watch. He left Brandi at the sink to finish the few dishes that remained. He did not notice when she left the kitchen and slipped into the bedroom.

Thirty minutes later she found him in his recliner. He had the remote in one hand and he was staring blankly at a ball game on the screen.

“What are you watching?” she asked in a cold, inquisitive voice. “You never watch hockey.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see that Brandi had changed into sweats and a long sleeper-shirt. He thought his odds of getting lucky before going to bed just took a huge dip.

“I’m not watching the game. Just waiting for you before starting a movie.”

Peter clicked the button on the remote to go to the previous channel and the screen switched to an on-demand screen. A movie they had wanted to see in the theater was the first option in the free-to-view list for the weekend. Peter started it and looked to his wife. His countenance fell when he saw that she had pulled out her laptop and was staring intently at the screen.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just watched, sulked really, in silence as the movie played. When the credits rolled he stood up and stretched.

“I think I am going to call it a night,” he said as he headed to the bedroom. He held out the smallest sliver of hope that she would follow and he would still get lucky.