The Heart - Sex Stories

The Heart

... Jonathan’s mother, knowing how impossibly difficult it must be to lose her only child and be alone in the world. Being with Jonathan’s mother was a way of being as close to him as she could, but it was painful to see how lost she was, how desolate. She noticed how his mother began drinking wine every afternoon, sometimes finishing a whole bottle before the dinner she made but rarely finished. The house was often dark when Emily arrived, and she always opened the curtains to let the sunlight in. Emily spent as little time as possible at home. She needed a change and so, a month after Jonathan’s death, she moved into a small apartment over Tony’s Pizza Shop, two blocks from the diner. She and her mother had never gotten along and her father was passive and distant. Her parents didn’t seem to like each other, so being around them was something she avoided. They grieved for her loss of Jonathan and worried about her, but the communication with her parents was superficial at best. She couldn’t confide in her mother because she was so judgmental and ready to give her opinions before Emily finished speaking. She felt her mother never really heard what she was saying, so she decided it was best to keep things to herself rather than be lectured. She knew she would never feel the compassion and acceptance she craved. It felt right for her to move out and fix up her own place with furniture, dishes and a few appliances from the Goodwill. Still grieving her loss of Jonathan, she ...

... imagined him with her, seeing him painting the walls, or sketching, but she would shake away those painful thoughts and try to read, or try out new recipes. She had her favorite photo of him on the table next to her bed and several pictures of them on her refrigerator door. It was hard for her to believe he wasn’t in her life. His absence would come to her like a thud and bring a burning ache to the back of her throat where she held back the tears that wanted to burst out. One day, six or so months after Jonathan’s death, a stranger walked into the diner. She noticed him lean his bicycle up against the railing on the steps to the entrance. He was probably in his late forties, she thought, and wondered what his story was. He started coming in every afternoon at one-thirty and always ordered the same thing, black coffee and a slice of apple pie. He was quiet and somewhat shy, but, after the second day, Emily asked his name so she could greet him when he came in. She liked the way he smiled and looked at her when he ordered his pie and coffee, which after a few days, he didn’t need to do because Emily just said, “Hi Walter. Let me guess--apple pie and coffee?” Emily usually worked from eight in the morning until two or two-thirty, depending on how much she needed to do to get ready for the next day. The diner closed at three, but they served dinner on the weekends. She made sure the sugar packets were on each table, the salt and pepper shakers refilled, ketchup bottles and syrup ...