The Dawn of Nia

by Lauren Cherelle

He looks over at the standing corkscrew I’m admiring. “Hell to-the-no. Somebody just gave that to me. And it better be here when she gets back.”

  Whatever. I can’t have the gadget, but because he’s a lazy host, I’m definitely going home with the bottle of ’91 Riesling I spotted on the baker’s rack.

  “You been missing for a month,” Tasha says. “What you been doing?”

  A month? I roll my eyes at the exaggeration and sit at the counter.

  She steps beside my bar stool and removes a flask from her purse, adding a shot of clear liquor to her orange juice. “What?” she asks as I stare. “It’s been a hard week.”

  “Girl, it’s nine thirty,” I remind her.

  “You have your days. I have mine. Now answer my question.”

  “Stuff.” I’m actually devoting my free time to house hunting. I won’t share the news until I make an offer on a property.

  “You still sleeping with Kayla?” Jacoby asks, pushing me to give a lengthier explanation.

  When I first told Jacoby about my quickie with Kayla, I was too embarrassed to admit she seduced me. Instead, I told him that I slipped and fell into Kayla’s cookie jar. Her treats were too good and warm not to eat. “I grew blue fur and googly eyes,” I said. Unfortunately, he mistook my slip-up as a revolving door.

  “I’ve talked to her a couple times,” I confess.

  Since our blunder in Pat’s sheets a month ago, Kayla hasn’t stopped calling me. Pat’s death is such a fresh wound that I have to spare her feelings. I don’t have the heart to curse her out and hang up— yet. The compassionate side of me agreed to meet her tonight for dinner only. I take a sip of water to clear my mind of the nauseating thought of Kayla pursuing me.

  “I hope you’re not sleeping with her,” Tasha says. “You can do way better than a heifer passing out STDs. She needs to close shop.”

  “Thank God we’re here instead of Cherry Street with you shouting my business out. I did not have a STD.”

  I had a urinary tract infection. After it cleared up, I cleared Kayla from my life. I didn’t need her cheating to lead to something I couldn’t remedy with water, baking soda, and amoxicillin.

  “Change the subject,” Jacoby suggests to keep the two of us from arguing.

  “Fine. Y’all still coming over tonight?”

  I forgot that I committed the evening to Tasha, but now I have a valid excuse to postpone with Kayla. I really need to heed my good senses and keep her at arm’s length anyway.

  Jacoby fidgets with his phone as we continue to cook. I can only imagine what’s brewing in his head. As long as he doesn’t press the issue with Kayla, I don’t mind focusing on Tasha and sobering her up a little with water and conversation. The more her mouth moves the less she drinks. So I purposely ask about her new crush, K.D.

  “She’s dragging her feet,” Tasha complains. “Maybe I can get her drunk and lure her to my bedroom.”

  I love Tasha, but she doesn’t wear single well. When she gets lonely, she gets desperate. It’s funny how we are today. Fifteen years ago you couldn’t pay us to have an open conversation about our girl crushes. Talking was too risky. We didn’t even share our crushes with each other. Instead, we buried our secrets deep inside until our twenties. Back then, talking, even to Tasha— who liked girls just as much as I did— would have made my feelings too real. Talking would have made our boyfriends a complete lie and sham. Just knowing that she sensed my true feelings, and vice versa, was comforting. It brought us closer. Someone else, someone I loved and trusted, shared my suffering.

  We’re out, full-fledged lesbians now, but that doesn’t make dating any easier. I’ve already given her tips to garner K.D.’s attention and affection. I guess my suggestions were too lame or lengthy. “Don’t be scandalous,” I say.

  “Maybe she thinks I’m fat,” Tasha pouts. She pinches off and nibbles on bacon. “Shit, I knew I should’ve lost fifteen pounds by now. Next week, fuck breakfast. Let’s go to the park and walk.”

  “You can take them thunder thighs to the park,” Jacoby says. “We’re good.”

  She counters with her middle finger. “Since you don’t have nothing to contribute other than your big mouth, does K.D. think I’m fat?”

  “How am I supposed to know?” He stands and walks to her. “We don’t talk about you. But, every now and then, she lets me look at an official copy of The Stud Handbook. I remember reading on page fourteen that a fat ass always trumps a fat stomach. Too bad your ass is flat.”

  We laugh as she attempts to punch him in the stomach. “So what? This is fat,” she says, pointing between her legs.

  I shake my head. Tasha’s tactless and pushy at times, but she’s a supportive and steadfast friend, alongside Jacoby. Now, if I can wiggle Kayla out of my circle, without unleashing the beast, it will be a remarkable feat.

  5

  I DODGE MY NOSY SUPERVISOR and meet Jacoby at the west wing entrance. He suggests that we spend our lunch hour outside of Methodist East and I instantly agree. So far, the workday has been fast-paced and stressful. Each I.V. took double the time to insert and every patient has been unnecessarily difficult.

  He starts south along the sidewalk and I follow. After weaving through three blocks of slow moving pedestrians, he asks, “So?”

  Why would he wait two weeks to ask a one-word question with a ton of implications? “Kayla wants to keep in touch, but I’m cutting ties.”

  “What did she do?”

  “The same old thing,” I explain. “I made the mistake of finally going to dinner with her and offering to foot the bill— only because I wanted to smooth things over with one last meal. This female ordered a sixty-dollar steak!”

  “You know your wallet is her true love. I thought you would make better decisions when it came to Kayla. But since you haven’t, it’s clear you’re meant to be single. Look at me, I wear singlehood like a badge of honor.”

  “You’re single because you’re a womanizer.”

  He laughs. “I’m single by choice. I know my strengths and weaknesses. I’m weak when I’m playing house. I’m strong when I’m single and free to mingle. You need to accept that we’re birds of the same feather.”

  Sometimes, Jacoby is insightful. He verbalizes the truths I can’t confess. I’m single by choice, too. Unlike him, however, I haven’t completely given up on what the future holds. I don’t expect much because my relationships have failed to date. But that’s no reason to fall prey to his predatory vision of my reality.

  “Anyway, where are we going?” I ask as we leave the hospital district.

  “Chuck E. Cheese’s.”

  This brings a smile to my face. I need to relieve the strain of twelve-hour shifts and my unfruitful house hunt with a little child’s play.

  First up, air hockey duels. Jacoby is a sore loser so we switch games and shoot flying ducks. Next, we challenge each other to hoops. But the best tension reducer is smash-a-munch. Yellow lights flash as I bang the purple-haired munches with joy. Jacoby stands by my side, guarding my growing chain of tickets, waiting for his chance to beat my high score. His reflexes aren’t as sharp as mine, so he’ll never defeat me.

  As he strikes munch heads, my eyes bounce to the games we haven’t played today, landing on the water shooter beside skee-ball row. My interest in game play vanishes when I spot a familiar face.

  “Hey,” I say, elbowing Jacoby. “That looks like the woman from the funeral.”

  Jacoby finishes the game and glances through the center in her direction. He grabs his tickets and turns to me. “You ready to go?”

  Is he crazy? I’m too curious to leave right now. I don’t plan on speaking to her, but I’ve got to get closer. Something about seeing her after the funeral makes her real. This really is Pat’s daughter.

  As soon as I raise my foot, he tugs my scrub top and says, “Hell no!”

  I snatch away from his fingers to proceed across the room. I park myself at a skee-ball machine and reach into my pockets for tokens
. I look to my right as she stands beside me assisting two children with chunky plastic guns.

  Jacoby steps next to me wearing a death stare, warning me to keep my mouth closed. I’m not bold enough to approach a stranger without cause. I didn’t come over here to interrupt her. Standing here satisfies my desire to see her up close and in action.

  I watch her out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t linger for too much longer. I hand Jacoby three tokens so we can both play skee-ball. I’m on the verge of inserting my tokens when she says, “Excuse me.”

  I turn to her in amazement. Something about this poor plan of mine actually worked.

  “Do you mind if the children play these two? The children,” she says. “The other one isn’t working.”

  I blink in disbelief.

  “Not at all,” Jacoby says.

  When he reaches for the tokens in my hand, I pull myself together and insert the golden coins into both functioning machines for the kids. “Have at it.”

  The little boy and girl wait for her permission to step forward. She nods and tells me, “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” I step aside with my eyes glued to her face.

  “You want your tokens back?” she asks.

  “Nah, I’ll pay it forward.”

  She gives me a quick once-over. “How cheap.”

  Jacoby and I laugh, caught off guard by her sassy reply.

  “Are these your kids?” he asks.

  “Maybe. Do you plan on hogging more games from people under thirteen?”

  “Maybe,” he says and glances at his watch. “We have eighteen minutes to spare.”

  I have to think fast. I haven’t talked to Kayla or reached out to Loca Tres about their secret family member, so I’m excited to prolong this chance encounter as long as I can. I dig in my pockets and place a handful of tokens on the broken skee-ball game. “Cheap?”

  “Leave the tickets,” she insists.

  “Gold digger,” Jacoby mumbles under a cough.

  “Pardon me?” she asks, side-eyeing him.

  “I’ll be back,” he says to me.

  Once he’s out of sight, I apologize. “He forgets to use his filter sometimes.”

  She crosses her arms and turns her back to me.

  I try to think of something to pique her interest, to continue the exchange. I feel around my pockets again, but I don’t have anything to offer except lint and a pen.

  I step away and stand by another arcade game to wait for Jacoby, but my eyes remain on her. What can I say to re-engage her? I can’t believe Jacoby blew my opportunity to chat with Pat’s offspring. Or maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I made a bad first impression. This morning I should’ve ironed a newer pair of scrubs and pulled my undefined coils into an up-do.

  Nearly two months have passed since Pat’s funeral. If I don’t act now, I’ll possibly never have the opportunity to speak with her again. So I’m still thinking about what I should say to her. I’m also thinking about how she doesn’t sound like me. She has a regional accent. Northeast, maybe. An accent too clean, rushed, and choppy for a Southerner. And she appears shorter without a dress to elongate her legs. I’m slightly above five feet and she’s barely taller than me.

  I decide move to another waiting place to see her face again. I walk by skee-ball, taking her in with each step, but not walking so slowly that I look creepy.

  Her sandals expose short toes with French tips. The top of a black and gray tattoo peaks above the back collar of her blue tee. She looks just as good in blue as she did in white. A cute silver bracelet dangles from her wrist. Her ring finger is bare.

  When I stop at the dinosaur blaster, she looks up, locking eyes with me. “What department do you work in, Nia?”

  “Whoa!” I say and throw up my hands. “How do you know my name?”

  Her eyes fall to my chest. “It’s on your badge, silly.”

  I touch my badge and giggle in embarrassment. Then I wonder whether my name jogs her memory. I’m sure she saw it in Pat’s obituary. I wait a few seconds to see whether she’ll mention this. When she doesn’t, I respond. “That’s what a hard morning will do to you.”

  “Has it been that bad?”

  “Cardiology is rough. My day is better now that I’m talking to you.”

  I can’t believe I just flirted with her. But this is a window of opportunity for the answers I want. This way, I won’t have to deal with Kayla or quiz her family. If my approach backfires, I’ll tuck my head down and run away.

  “Hmm,” she says. “I’m flattered.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  “The question is do you come here often?”

  I chuckle. “I should.” I want to flatter her more. “Never know where I’ll find that someone special.”

  “Dang, slow down. I don’t like to rush,” she says and smiles.

  My attention drifts to the tiny diamond in her left nostril. Then her shy dimples. Dimples just like Pat’s. A few minutes ago, she was meaner than a junkyard dog. Her smile completely diminishes her cold exterior. Her smile confirms the physical attraction I wanted to ignore.

  And the attraction obliterates my reasoning. I could disregard the butterflies, but she’s given me a green light to proceed. “Maybe one day we can meet each other here, alone.”

  “I’m not into women who play children’s games. But, you’re in luck. I have a soft spot for women in uniform.”

  My increased heart rate interferes with my ability to make a careful decision. This is Pat’s daughter and she has no clue I know this. I could hold my tongue and tell her later. Or, I could walk away, attributing our chance encounter to a blip in fate instead of bombarding her with questions. Really, I want to seize the moment, taking advantage of our mutual attraction to solidify a future conversation. Pat’s daughter or not, she’s beautiful and I want to see her again.

  “I’m into adult games, too,” I say. “I know a few grown folks’ places we can chill.”

  ~ * ~

  Once the pedestrian signal switches to walk, Jacoby and I cross the bustling boulevard and head for the hospital quad. “Where did you go?” I ask.

  “I had to piss like a racehorse. It’s that damn organic tea you gave me,” he complains. “So, what did Ms. Get-y’all-grown-asses-out-of-here say when I left?”

  “Nothing really. She was real quiet. Maybe she’ll loosen up when I call her.”

  “What? You ran into her and assumed she was gay?”

  “I didn’t assume anything. My gaydar actually went off at the funeral.”

  “That’s bull. And speaking of funerals, did you tell her how much she looks like Pat?”

  I look into oncoming traffic.

  “I guess you’re gonna wait and tell her at the same time you say ‘I live with my mommy and daddy’?”

  Jacoby is wrong for poking fun at my living situation, but has every right to remind me that this woman obviously didn’t notice, or remember, that we were at the funeral, too. She has no idea we’re connected by only one degree of separation.

  After much consideration, I say, “When I talk to her, I’ll bring it up.”

  Jacoby checks the time and picks up the pace. He’s often late for work and doesn’t have any demerit points to spare. I jog to keep up with his stride. He dashes into the side entrance of the hospital and swipes his badge in the nick of time.

  Now in the clear, he says, “What’s the pretty lady’s name?”

  “Deidra.”

  “Dee—dra,” he says. “Sounds like trouble.”

  6

  THE THOUGHT of cold-calling Deidra makes me anxious. I haven’t pursued anyone in years. Kayla led the efforts when first dating me, and before Kayla, I rarely beckoned the attention of those I found attractive. Instead, I substituted pickup lines with the twinkle in my eyes and bounce of my hips. From there, it was an easy ride. I stepped outside of my comfort zone with Deidra at Chuck E. Cheese’s. That moment was do or die.

  I table the effort for thirty minute
s before considering the call again. What if she regrets sharing her number with me? What if she answers the phone and brushes me off? What if we sit on the phone listening to chirping crickets, unsure of how to foster a conversation? Before I’m consumed with more bad scenarios I decide to just call. Ultimately, I won’t know what happens unless I call. It has been four days since we met. I shouldn’t postpone another hour.

  I close the bedroom door so Mama won’t randomly walk in during the call. I feel fifteen again, locking the door and cutting off the light to pretend I’m asleep so I can stay up late talking on the phone with my boyfriend. I can’t wait to have my own house! After accompanying my realtor to over thirty properties, I’ve settled on a recently built condo that suits my extensive preferences and limited finances. I pray morning, noon, and night that my inspection and closing will soon come to an end.

  When Deidra answers my call, I can’t think of anything to say other than, “Hey, this is Nia.” I should have given her something sexy and confident. I stand from the bed like I know the call will end soon, like I know I’m about to unlock the door and head to the kitchen for snack food.

  “Why’d it take you so long to call me?”

  I smile with relief. Then I tap the speakerphone icon and answer, “Work has been kicking my ass. How are you doing?”

  “Good. I’m in Mississippi hanging out with my pops and his crew.”

  I smile again. I hang out with my dad sometimes. I hear voices and the vocals of delta blues in the background. I desperately want to pry into her relationship with her father, but it’s too soon to meddle in her personal life. I also want to ask why she has a Virginia area code except I stick with the basics. “What part of Mississippi?”

  “Hold on a second. I need to move. I can barely hear you.”

  The noises sifting through the receiver parallel a storm as Deidra searches for a peaceful place to talk. First, hissing wind and buzzing, a loud pop, scrapping against a hard surface, a slamming door, and then her pleasant voice. “You know we can get a little out of hand during spades.”

  I agree and prop my feet on the footboard of the bed. I lie on my back and stare at the dim ceiling. This feels oddly familiar. I recall talking on the phone in this same bed and position with a girl I secretly crushed on in eleventh grade.