Yes. There they were. Peeking out from under the comforter, attached to his muscular, hairy calves.
“Morning!” he said. “This is some mattress. I slept like a baby.”
“Um, thanks?” she said, hearing the awkwardness of her own voice. She quickly scuttled into the kitchen, cut on the news, and started her coffee. She did this as loudly as possible, hoping the noise would send the message she seemed unable to verbally communicate. As the coffee filled the pot, her angst began to mount, his presence threatening to cross the invisible line into her morning routine. She opened the cabinet, contemplated pulling out two mugs, but instead took out just one. Her go-to, with the mascot of her own fancy New England college. Its presence at the start of her every morning both a comforting aide-mémoire of her own ambition and intelligence, and a disquieting reminder that she was likely squandering the two.
Even with his socked feet and the hum of the central A/C, she could hear him making his way to the bathroom, down the short corridor towards her. In her adult life Olga had only been in one real relationship, and that had ended nearly fifteen years before. This type of intimacy was unfamiliar, leaving her unsure how to act. Would he greet her like a husband? Like a lover? How should she react to that? A grimace? A sweet kiss? Pretend, for a moment, to be like a normal woman, eager for an instant of domestic bliss?
“Shit! This is some view!” Matteo exclaimed. It was. The apartment was located on the seventeenth floor of one of the older of the new high-rises that had come to dominate, and transform, one of the previously neglected enclaves of her hometown. The unit itself, decorated with sparse perfection, featured the best of HGTV and IG: stainless steel appliances, an open concept floor plan, a kitchen island with poured concrete countertops, and the showstopper—floor-to-ceiling windows that offered sweeping views of what Olga considered her little patch of Brooklyn. From her kitchen she could look down one of the bustling avenues and practically see the neighborhood she had grown up in.
“I mean, the construction of these buildings is garbage—I hope you’re leasing and didn’t buy—but wow, the view. Chef’s kiss!”
Olga stared at him. He was naked, his flaccid penis dangling as he paced the room clocking each angle of the view.
“You’re naked.”
“I am,” he said. “Is that weird, somehow? We were naked all night.”
“Yes, but now it’s daytime. So, I guess I was just a little surprised you were still—”
“Naked? This is interesting, I didn’t take you for the Puritan type, but then again, I didn’t know you’d spent formative years with the witch burners up north.” She looked at him quizzically and he gestured towards her mug.
“Ah!” She chuckled. She was less uncomfortable than she thought she would be, the realization of which made her uncomfortable. For a moment there was a silence between them, the meteorologist on the TV lamenting about climate change. A clip of her brother on the news brought her back to her senses. “So, yeah. Listen. It’s just that normally—”
“God,” Matteo exclaimed to the TV, “is there a day when this homie isn’t on the news?”
She put her mug down. “Not a fan, I take it?”
Matteo laughed. “Of what? His schmaltz or his unbridled ambition? I was half expecting him to announce his bid for president the day after the last election!”
Olga didn’t really want to engage him; after all, chances were she would never see him again. But she was proud of her brother.
“We should be so lucky. My brother’d be an amazing president. He’ll never run though. So, for now, I guess the people of Sunset Park have to be content with having their own personal Pedro Albizu Campos.”
Matteo looked from Olga to the TV and back to Olga again.
“Hold up. Please don’t tell me that you’re related to Congressman Pedro Acevedo?”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” She smiled, a bit smugly.
“Damn.”
“Damn.” She laughed.
“No hard feelings?”
“None. You know what they say about opinions and all…”
“Funny girl!” He smiled. “Listen, ma, since there’s no hard feelings, let me ask you what’s a dude’s got to do to get a cup of coffee? Where’s that Brooklyn hospitality?”
She was embarrassed. She knew better and he’d called her on it.
“How do you take it?” she asked as she reached for a second mug.