The Memory Of One Night

CHAPTER 7:Bad Timing

Flour puffed in the air as Andra carefully folded it into the batter in the glass bowl, soft music crooning from the stereo in the living room.

Lucas Langston was simply indecipherable. Nothing else was a valid explanation for how he'd behaved since…well, since two weeks ago.

Even Imogen had melted into the background of his shrouded life after their dinner to celebrate her promotion.

And, apparently, whatever had happened at that Irish restaurant had been sufficient to make Lucas forget what he had told Andra he needed to discuss with her, as he left with Imogen that day.

Andra thought of it as she stood in her kitchen, in her most comfortable house wear, slowly folding the last batch of flour into the carrot cake batter.

Even now, whenever her mind filled with memories of that night, her lower body still tingled. She had woken up from a vivid dream of the incident many a night, registering the wetness between her legs with self-loathing.

That didn't stop her feeling more enthusiastic on the days she had to dress and drape herself in a lovely coat to head to Blackout at nine in the night.

She had never gotten as lucky again.

She looked around her kitchen anxiously, as if it were possible for anyone else to hear her sinful thoughts in the empty apartment.

Exhaling, she turned her attention to the glass bowl on the counter.

Cooking was her one personal ritual that she never got enough time to indulge in, with only one day of the week to herself.

Usually, on days like today, she would either sleep long hours, or stand in the kitchen, trying out ambitious recipes, the bulk of which she packaged to distribute to some colleagues at work.

When Nate was still in the picture, she would send some over to him as well. She released a deep breath and shook her head stiffly.

As she poured her batter into the waiting pan and reached for a dishcloth to wipe the surface, her phone started ringing.

Andra abandoned the cleaning and reached for the device. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the caller ID.

Breathing slowly to calm her racing thoughts, she put the phone to her ear.

“Holá, mamá,” she said shakily into the phone. It was quiet for a few seconds on the other end.

“We haven't seen anything from you for the month,” a clipped female voice said, the Spanish accent firm and consistent.

Andra's back sagged. She stiffened her knees to hold herself up.

“I'll…I'll do it before this week runs out.”

“If this is what you've chosen to do, then you should do it wholeheartedly.”

“I said I'll do it before this week runs out,” she repeated, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.

She wanted to ask her mother so many things, but the words just wouldn't form, wouldn't get past the thick lump that lodged in her throat anytime she saw a call from Colombia.

“¿Cómo están?” Andra managed to ask.

“As fine as we can be. This call is expensive, I have to go.”

The line clicked before she could reply. She held the phone in her hand for a moment longer, looking at the blank screen.

She had long stopped calling back after such abrupt clicks, knowing from experience that the call would ring out with no answer.

Resignedly, Andra set the phone down and went to put her cake in the oven, dropping the empty glass bowl with the spatula in the sink.

The phone started ringing again and she whipped around quickly, hoping that something had touched her mother's heart and made her call back. Her vision blurred as she picked the call.

“Andra, have you cross-checked to see that all the details for tomorrow's meeting are in place?”

She clenched her fist hard. Lucas Langston.

It was a Sunday afternoon, for goodness' sake.

“I'm fine, thank you, and good afternoon to you too, sir,” she said with sarcastic enthusiasm.

He did not reply.

“Yes, I've cross-checked and seen that all the details are in place,” she said between clenched teeth.

Goodness, how many emotions had she felt in the past hour?

“Good. Then I expect for everything to go well tomorrow. See you at the meeting, then, Ms. Ferreira.”

With that the line clicked and went dead.

“See you at the meeting, then, Ms. Ferreira,” she mimicked at the phone screen.

“Insufferable man,” she scoffed, turning towards the sink.

Liquid swam in her eyes again, and she had to hold on to the kitchen countertop to steady herself.

She blinked tightly and waited for the black dots that had gathered in her eyes to dissipate, an intrusive thought crawling into her mind.

Andra did a quick mental calculation, and her heart rate shot up instantly. Her eyes flew open.

“Oh, no,” she whispered to herself. She touched a hand to her lower abdomen.

“Oh, please, God, no.”