Decisions Over Coffee

pssst...if you haven't heard, The Red Dress Club is now Write on Edge

the prompt:

You must begin your story with the words “We had to leave immediately” and end it with “And then we realized we were already home.”

The middle part is up to you.

If you are not writing in the first-person, then feel free to change the “we” to “they.” You may choose to write fiction or non-fiction. 

This is part of Greta's Story, happening many months after Regaining Her Footing, but I don't think you need to be familiar with the background to read this piece.

“They had to leave immediately,” the real estate agent explained, almost apologetically, sensible heels clicking on the ceramic tile of the seventh property they had visited that afternoon.

She paused, shifting her weight to one long leg, surveying the living room briefly before consulting the notes in her hand.

“Obviously you wouldn’t need to take the furniture upon possession.  The owners are willing to move it into storage.”

Greta felt an uncomfortable giggle begin to rise and took a deep breath, trying to keep it contained. 

The thought of throwing her tailored trench coat across the back of the gaudy flowered couch dominating the living room caused a thin trickle of sweat to bead up on her spine.  It looked as though it hadn’t been moved or cleaned since sometime in the sixties, which was impossible, since the condo itself was only six years old.

Though they walked through the rest of the rooms, later Greta could only remember the sagging couch and the warm comfort of Drew’s hand in hers.

When the agent climbed into her shiny black sedan, Greta finally sighed and relaxed her fingers.  Drew shook his hand in an exaggerated motion, grinning until she smiled back.

“I forgot how tough you are,” he teased, taking back her hand, this time lacing his fingers lightly through hers, slim currents of electricity still surprising her even after countless moments like this.

“Coffee?” he asked, tracing the edge of her thumb with his.

The brief tilt of her head was unnecessary; they were already walking towards the café that had become their conversation haven.  Greta cradled her head in her hands at a corner table, the faults of each of the properties she had seen over the last few weeks dancing through her head.

Drew placed a steaming mug in front of her, the way her hands encircled the ceramic etched in his mind, as familiar now as her coffee order and the way she cried with every change in her mood.

Silence curled around them, caressing the spaces that separated their bodies, comfortable, warm, and full of promises yet unspoken.  Sensing she had collected her thoughts, he raised his eyebrows, inviting her words.

“Well, maybe if I could take the couch from the last place and move it to the third place, you know the one facing the dumpster?”

“Great décor and location,” he nodded, pleased to see her smile climb into her eyes.  He had begun to worry that house hunting would bring back the Greta they had both worked so hard to extradite, the Greta who would have given up after a dozen less-than-stellar prospects.

“I’m just ready to be done with my old place,” she sighed, sipping coffee, sweetened slightly with vanilla and Drew’s perfect ratio of cream and sugar.  “It doesn’t feel like my house anymore.”

Discontent with her apartment had crept in gradually.  Hot pink towels and a gorgeous white parsons desk had helped her erase every trace of James from the walls, but somehow he slowly crept back in the door each time she invited Drew home.

“You’ll find something,” he said calmly, his eyes wandering over her head, down the street, as he reached for her.

Resting against his chest, she smelled his aftershave mingling with the scent of her shampoo.  The steady whoosh of his heartbeat was loud next to her ear as her own eyes glanced in the direction of his house.

Tilting her head up, their eyes locked, and they realized they were staring in the same direction.

And then they realized they were already home.