Leftovers With Benefits: An Interracial Contemporary Romance

by C. L. Donley

  “Anyway, I called it. I was desperate. We were barely talking. She’d gone from coming home late to not coming home.”

  Two months ago. Kenya felt like an idiot. Everything was fine two months ago if you asked her.

  “I keep replaying it in my mind. She tried to tell me then, but I wouldn’t listen. I guess it would’ve happened this way regardless.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Kenya volunteered. “If my dumbass husband wouldn’t have walked out in the middle of the night, I probably wouldn’t have followed him to your house and keyed your car.”

  “He must’ve been to the house before,” Kevin deduced aloud.

  Kenya stuttered awkwardly.

  “Maybe she… gave him the address. And he looked it up on Magellan.”

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “What did I do wrong? Where did we fuck up? I honestly have no idea,” Kevin wondered aloud staring bleary-eyed and stoic at the dining room table. Kenya stopped her frenzied kitchen cleaning a moment, not sure if he was expecting her to answer.

  Her heart went out to him. She and Cecil may not have been able to weather the storm, but at least they knew there was a storm.

  “Things were rocky. For a long time. But we were working things out. We were… starting to be intimate again,” he divulged.

  Ooookay. Clearly, this guy is firmly in his feelings and gives zero fucks about it, she thought.

  “Who knows what makes people do the things they do,” Kenya tried to move the subject along. Instead, she came off sounding a bit cynical, at least to herself.

  “I don’t see how you can be so calm at a time like this.”

  Kenya shrugged. “Not my first rodeo.”

  “He’s done this before?”

  Kenya sighed, her head cocked as if perusing her memory.

  “Cheated? Yes. With a white woman? No. At least not that I know of. And a married one at that.”

  “What does that matter?”

  “What does what matter? That she’s white?”

  “No, that she’s married,” he said sarcastically. “Of course, that she’s white.”

  Kenya scoffed a bit. “Uh… it matters.”

  Kevin looked at her silently as if he expected her to continue. Kenya raised an eyebrow of skepticism, her veiled expression becoming more animated.

  “You mean to tell me you’re not sitting here wondering? What Cecil might…have? That you don’t have?”

  Kenya was drying her hands with a kitchen towel in the doorway. Kevin rolled his eyes dramatically and scoffed.

  “Please tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying,” he responded.

  “What do you think I’m saying, Kevin?”

  He smiled. Hearing his name, hearing Kenya the nurse talk about dicks. He shook his head dismissively as if refusing to answer.

  “Everyone does the comparison game when the Ex moves on. I’m merely admitting that when the Ex moves on to someone of a different culture or race, the imagination tends to…”

  “Go haywire?”

  “So you do understand what I mean,” she projected from the kitchen.

  “I guess I just don’t understand what you think a white woman has that you don’t have.”

  Fucking witchcraft?

  “Uh, I don’t know,” Kenya began, “Let’s start with pale skin.”

  Kevin jerked his neck back and furrowed his brow.

  “Pale skin is boring.”

  “Says you.”

  “In no part of the world is pale skin considered special.”

  “Not true. And I’m sure she’s a delicate flower in need of saving. And protecting.”

  Kevin took a deep breath and hung his head in shame and guilt. Dammit, if she wasn’t all of those things. And he’d lived for it.

  Why hadn’t she noticed? Had he done a bad job? He felt the bile rising in his stomach.

  Meanwhile, Kenya seemed to know she was dead on the money.

  “What’s her name again?” Kenya asked.

  “Lindsey,” he replied with his head still hanging low.

  “Shit,” Kenya replied, as if spitting the name like chewed up tobacco. Kevin snickered against his will.

  “No offense, but your wife is a squawking baby bird. That became a human.”

  Kevin quietly chuckled in his chair, amused at the strange, vivid description.

  “None taken,” he grinned.

  “And I bet her thighs don’t even touch. Probably has some asinine shoe size for an adult, like six and a half.”

  Kevin threw his head back at that one as he quietly laughed.

  “Straight blonde hair. Also not something I have,” Kenya recalled.

  “That’s her natural hair color, by the way. You know she brushes her hair 100 strokes every night? Just like Marsha Brady? I mentioned the Brady Bunch to her and she had no idea what I was talking about. She uses this shampoo…it smells just like this strawberry orchard I used to go to as a kid. First time I met her…”

  Kenya stared at Kevin from the doorway of her kitchen as he continued to ruminate.

  “I’m sorry,” Kevin came to his senses.

  “No, please. Go on. I can’t wait until it’s my turn.”

  Kevin sighed. “Please don’t. I said I was sorry.”

  “You know, Cecil has these freakishly strong hands,” Kenya began, “Like, if he was the last one to close the pickle jar, you could forget about ever getting back into it, but… those hands,” she continued with a far-off look, “and they could be gentle, too. When he put his mind to it, you know what I mean?”

  “Please stop.”

  “There was this one time he wanted to have sex standing up—”

  “I’m sorrreeeeeeeeeeee-ah!”

  Kenya gave her a lingering “I told you so” grin, ever so slightly, as she uncrossed her hands and headed back in the kitchen.

  Kenya returned with a bowl full of warmed up jambalaya.

  “Thanks. I don’t mean to impose, really.”

  “It’s no imposition. Anyway, consider it a gift for not pressing charges.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Seriously. That would not have been a good look for me.”

  “It’s such a hassle too,” Kevin added, taking a bite of reddened rice.

  “Oh my God,” he remarked with a mouthful.

  “Good?”

  “Your husband’s an idiot.”

  “I agree,” Kenya laughed.

  “I was lucky to get Lindsey to boil water.”

  “She must’ve had other talents,” Kenya replied with little interest.

  “She was very good at ordering.”

  “I can imagine,” Kenya widened her eyes.

  “But she loved leftovers too. Eating things cold. Her mother never cooked either.”

  “Generational ineptitude.”

  “Her mother was horrible, quite honestly. Lindsey came out exceptionally well.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  Kevin noticed her lackluster reply.

  “I’m doing it again. I’m sorry.”

  Kenya just huffed a laugh.

  “I’ve been told that I’m easy to talk to.”

  “You are,” he said, wondering if there was anything underneath her robe. It was tied the way his wife tied hers when there was nothing underneath and she didn’t want him looking at her, he recalled, the barbed memory stabbing at him. He noticed she was wearing a dainty gold chain with her initials. “KH.” Same initials as his.

  Kenya spoke after a beat of silence.

  “Well, take your time. Mind if I get ready for work?”

  “No. How long you been working graveyard?”

  “Two years.”

  “Like it?”

  “It’s uh… different. Sometimes I miss the sun. You know, in the late morning. It’s got a different look to it. A different feel. Like… a clean slate.”

  “Mmm,” Kevin mused. “Two years without that clean
slate feeling.”

  “You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I think I do,” he said. “What are your days off?”

  “Monday, Thursday and Saturday.”

  Kevin nodded.

  “Three days. Does it feel weird not having two days in a row?”

  “I’m used to it. Why do you ask?”

  “Just… making conversation,” he shrugged.

  Her nipples shown faintly through her robe and he had his answer to his earlier question.

  Though he didn’t quite know what was suddenly making that happen. He thought it best not to speculate.

  She descended down the stairs and disappeared out of his sight.

  Kenya re-emerged in another set of her colorful scrubs, pristine, soundless sneakers on her feet. Her hair was in the same braided, Roman style crown it was in when he first met her. Along with the same demure, professional look of someone with a job that was relatively joyless. He could relate. She soundlessly gathered her things, keys in hand. A subtle, polite gesture that she was in a hurry.

  “Thanks for letting me bother you,” Kevin said.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Honestly. For a good hour or so it was like… I could forget.”

  Kenya smiled a bit. “Me too, I guess.”

  “Really?”

  “The Bible says to bear one another’s burdens. This is probably one of the reasons why.”

  Kevin smiled, the sudden mention of holy, sacred things jarring his ear, making him think of Marrakesh, where he was stationed once.

  “You have a way with words, you know that?”

  Kenya laughed and shook her head.

  “Kevin.”

  “What?”

  “Get out.”

  “Of course.” Kevin quickly got up, carried his dishes into the kitchen, which made Kenya cringe. Strange white boys in her kitchen. If she called up her Nana, she was pretty sure there was some superstition about that. Like coming across a black cat or breaking a mirror. And there was probably a remedy.

  She followed him out where his newly keyed car was parked behind her.

  “Seriously, Kevin. Send me my half of the bill on that, okay?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “Thanks for the food, Kenya. And the ear.”

  “Anytime,” Kenya said, opening the door to her car.

  “Careful, I may hold you to that,” Kevin teased her before he got in, a grin still on his face as he started the engine.

  6

  Chapter 6

  “So, how long have you been separated?” Kevin asked across the table.

  “Two years,” Casey said smiling cordially, twirling her pasta with her fork.

  Casey was Kevin’s Tinder date for the evening, his third in as many weeks.

  On the terrible advice of his brother, he’d set up a profile, explaining that he was fresh out of a relationship and just wanted friendship. Someone to talk, nay, vent to. “That’s a thing,” his brother assured him.

  Turns out, not so much.

  After two awkward dates, Kevin deduced that his brother had simply told him that in the hopes that he would end up getting laid anyway, his magical remedy for all things.

  Yet and still, Kevin persevered, thinking perhaps the third time would be the charm. He’d have to be a bit more straightforward.

  “So you do understand that… I meant what I said in my profile,” he began. “I mean, I’m really just looking for, you know, friendship. A person who understands what I’m going through right now. But I’m not ready for anything physical.”

  “No, absolutely. I’m totally with you,” Casey replied.

  But sure enough, she’d invited him in. Under false pretenses of course.

  “We could have some wine,” she offered. “Talk more about your wife and that whole…thing.”

  But he found he never wanted to venture too far beyond pleasantries. He forgot how shit he was at dating.

  “I’d love some, but we’ve already had drinks and I should really get home,” he replied, politely excusing himself without so much as a hug.

  The next day he was ignored. Now he was three for three.

  “Dating fucking sucks. Why anyone does it is beyond me,” Kevin confessed at happy hour with the guys the following Monday.

  “Well duh, you’re not supposed to enjoy it. You’d be insane. Like someone who hates working but just loves job interviews.”

  “I can’t even take my wedding ring off. I look like a fucking sleaze.”

  “Dude,” his brother asked, perplexed, “what the hell happened to the hot nurse?”

  “Yeah… I can’t go back there.”

  Scott wanted to smack him but didn’t.

  “What? Why the hell not? You said it went well.”

  “For me, maybe. It was fucking embarrassing. I dropped by her house like a fucking weirdo stalker. She was in the middle of getting ready. I kept bringing up Lindsey. She handled it well, but…”

  “Okay, so… don’t do any of those things.”

  “I think I just remind her of the whole thing.”

  “Look, all I know is, that for about a week afterward, you were sort of a normal person.”

  “She made this fuckin’… jambalaya. I can’t stop thinking about it. I should have gone back with Tupperware.”

  “She fed you, bro?”

  “Yeah. She has this gigantic crockpot. She just puts a buncha shit in it, sets it and forgets it. You know, ‘cause she works nights?”

  Scott simply blinked, beer in hand.

  “The car will be done next week, right. Don’t you have to call her about the bill?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So. Ask her out. Make it a thing.”

  Kevin sighed.

  “Am I really that miserable to be around?”

  “Well, yes. And this chick seems to be good for you for some reason.”

  “We understand each other, that’s for sure.”

  “Look, I know you have your reasons for missing Lindsey, and maybe it’s selfish but I miss Kevin,” his brother said, somewhat serious. “I miss seeing you happy. It’s been a long time since I saw that, little bro. Long before this whole clusterfuck.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say she makes me happy. I don’t know her at all,” Kevin ruminated. “I liked her sense of humor, at least. Tinder isn’t the best tool for that, I think.”

  “Wait…who are we talking about?” Scott interjected.

  “The nurse from the hospital.”

  “The one that keyed your car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s her name again?” Scott asked with a perplexed look.

  Kevin stared at his brother a moment, then looked down at the table, trying and failing to get Kenya’s name out of his mouth without smiling.

  Scott chuckled mischievously. His assistant grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

  “I hope you fuck the shit out of her, bro.”

  “Jesus, Scott,” Kevin blushed.

  “Serves her husband right.”

  “Not a good reason,” Kevin shook his head.

  “No. Just a bonus,” Scott winked.

  Next week, Kevin picked up his newly painted and waxed car from the shop. There, he was confronted with some good news.

  “The damage on the driver side panel wasn’t as bad as we thought,” the technician informed him. “We knocked $900 off the price.”

  So it would be $1800 for the both of them, just like Kenya predicted.

  He started to feel a warmth in his chest. Finally, he’d have a reason to talk to her again. Along with some good news.

  He went by the hospital, well after work so he wouldn’t miss her. This time, there was a different person at the desk.

  “Kenya Hamilton? I don’t see her on the schedule.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Kevin reprimanded himself. “But she does still work here?”

  “
Yes. You sure she’s not on day shift?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, I don’t know what else to tell you. Leave me your information I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  He told himself that he wouldn’t drive by her house, that it was in the opposite direction of his, but of course, he did anyway.

  She wasn’t home.

  In fact, he saw another car in the driveway. A white 4Runner with a huge scratch down the side.

  Kevin’s heart pumped combat level adrenaline around his entire body and he hightailed it out of there.

  If he would’ve stopped, if he would’ve seen that there was someone with him, he might’ve committed murder.

  Jesus. He held onto the wheel at 10 and 2, shaking. He couldn’t catch his breath. Jesus, was he having a panic attack?

  He pulled over to the side of the road to vomit, the cars along the busy intersection whizzing by in bursts. He dry-heaved as he sobbed.

  Kevin was embarrassed, but not because he was hunched over on the side of the road. He felt like such a naive idiot.

  What the hell was he thinking? Going out on dates? Letting his dipshit brother give him advice, not knowing a single fucking thing he was going through?

  He was a mess. And no amount of female distraction was going to fix that. He certainly didn’t need to be foisting himself on anyone else right now.

  He was just going to have to be a trainwreck for a while, and everyone was going to have to deal. Just like when he came home from deployment, and everyone said he was yelling when he wasn’t. And flying off the handle about the smallest thing when he wasn’t. Well, maybe that last part was true…

  But eventually, he adapted. Now his family and friends would have to do the same.

  He was going to have to grieve and be miserable and eventually, hopefully, heal. Alone.

  * * *

  For the first time in two years, Kenya was on day shift again. Even after two weeks, she was still plagued with the irrational fear that she would run into the two of them. And like she predicted, day shift worsened her paranoia.

  She became a virtual shut-in on her days off. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of thinking she was safe if she didn’t leave the house.

  Confident her social media was fully scrubbed of Cecil and all unnecessary mutual acquaintances, a simple logging on to Webster sent her spiraling down a rabbit hole of indescribable depression, one that started with Cecil’s profile picture that’d been changed to an ultrasound. 3D of course.