Two Apples
Isabel Fontes
About the Author
Born and raised in Lisbon, Isabel Fontes learned early that culture is something you build, not wait for. She writes poetry and short fiction and has published internationally, with recent recognition in the United States. Alongside her writing, she has spent years developing cultural and performative projects, working across literature, music, radio, and television. Isabel does not separate writing from living — both are driven by curiosity, restlessness, and attention.
She currently lives between Cardiff and London. On Instagram (@isabel0fontes), she mostly documents travel, friendships, and the occasional escape from words.
Two Apples
Dawn was already breaking when Maria looked around. Beside her, the body remained warm. He was still asleep.
"I'm leaving. Forget your mother's death and cheer up," she said.
The man didn't move.
She was already at the door when she heard him murmur:
"I miss you, Mum."
The words followed her into the street.
The city was almost empty. The first light slid softly across the buildings as Maria walked home thinking about the man she had spent the night with. Not because she cared about him. She rarely did. But because of the way he had said it. Not a lover's name. Not hers. His mother.
By the time she reached her flat, she was hungry enough to feel it behind her eyes.
The fridge contained two apples and little else.
Maria closed the door, lit a cigarette and sat on the sofa.
She smoked in silence before calling João.
He answered on the third ring.
"How are the paintings?"
A pause.
"Better."
"You sold one?"
"I sold one."
Maria smiled.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
"For how much?"
"Not much. But enough to buy lunch."
"Then I'm coming."
"Good."
After a quick shower, she put on the pink dress João liked and left.
João lived in a small attic flat flooded with afternoon light. When he opened the door, the smile arrived before the greeting.
The table was already covered with food collected from the café where he occasionally worked.
Bread. Cheese. Fruit. Two bottles of beer.
Maria stopped in the doorway.
They ate slowly, laughed, shared cigarettes and, for a few hours, neither of them mentioned money.
Afterwards they stood side by side at the sink, washing their hands. Their shoulders touched and neither moved away. João turned towards her and she kissed him first.
The bedroom was only a few steps away.
Later they lay tangled together beneath the sheets while the afternoon light drifted across the ceiling. The world beyond the room seemed distant, temporary and safe.
Maria rested her head against João's chest.
"How long will this be enough for you?" she asked quietly.
João looked down at her.
"It won't."
She smiled.
"What does that mean?"
"Move in with me."
The smile disappeared.
For a moment she thought he was joking. Then she realised he wasn't.
"João..."
"I'm serious."
"With what money?"
"We'll manage."
"That's not a plan."
João looked away.
"Neither is this."
Silence settled between them.
Outside, someone hammered against a wall somewhere in the building.
"Leave that life behind."
Maria stared at the ceiling.
"And live on what?"
"We'll manage."
She laughed softly, not because it was funny, but because it wasn't.
"That's what people say before they become hungry."
"We're already hungry."
"Not hungry enough."
João didn't answer.
Evening arrived slowly. The curtain moved with the warm breeze coming through the half-open window and the moon had already begun its slow ascent.
João wrapped an arm around her.
"Stay tonight."
Maria looked towards the window. Beyond the glass, the sky was turning silver and, for reasons she couldn't explain, she remembered the man from that morning.
I miss you, Mum.
She thought about loneliness, about hunger, and about all the different ways people paid to be held. The men who rented her body. The boy beside her offering his future. The distance between wanting something and being able to keep it.
João squeezed her hand.
"Stay."
Maria closed her eyes.
She wanted to.
More than anything, she wanted to.
But wanting and surviving had never been the same thing.
"I can't afford to," she whispered.
João said nothing.
Outside, the moon continued its slow climb across the night sky while, for a while, neither of them moved.