“Why are we crammed in here?” I ask. “Why didn’t you take the party outside?”
“Girl, I ain’t trying to sweat tonight.” She winks. “Not yet.”
When Tasha leaves to tend to new arrivals at the front door, I make myself a drink and pile assorted wings and veggies on a plate to share with Deidra.
She bites into a celery stick and says, “Thanks for the wings, but I only eat animals with gills.”
“You don’t drink alcohol or eat chicken, but you smoke.” I’ve developed a habit of calling Deidra out on her nicotine addiction, especially whenever she steps to my garage or patio to soothe her cravings.
“Chickens, pigs, and cows are equally filthy.”
“You want me to get you something else?”
“No, thanks, Nurse Nia,” she says and then laughs. ‘Nurse Nia’ alludes to the last time we had sex, the first time we role-played during foreplay. Wherever my patient complained of pain, I applied a slow, sensual remedy. She stands from her stool. “I can’t wait to get in your bed tonight,” she whispers in my ear. We share a kiss to confirm tonight’s role-play. “Do you know any of these people?”
“I know a few faces. My cousin Shonda is here. And Jacoby should be here soon.”
“Jacoby? That’s your playmate, right?”
I laugh and summarize the history of our adult relationship. We were in the same nursing cohort during undergrad. Post-graduation, we worked at different hospitals before he transferred to Methodist East. “Chuck E. Cheese’s has kept us sane for two years.” I hope by sharing more about myself she will begin to do the same— saving me the trouble of asking.
The Coke and rum I’m sipping is ready to exit, so I excuse myself and head to the bathroom. When I return, Deidra isn’t in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure she stepped outside to smoke. I make myself a bowl of chips and queso and join the folks at the table, squeezing onto the bench next to my friend.
“Where’s your girl?” Tasha asks as she sorts her cards.
“I don’t know. Where’s your future wife?”
She shrugs with disappointment. “I’m texting her if she’s not here by eleven.”
“Speak of the devil.”
Tasha looks up from her cards, eyes widening as her crush draws near. K.D. prides her boi-ish charm, firm physique, and licentious reputation. The trio is a seductive weapon. And Tasha willingly steps in the line of fire. “Here, play my hand.” She flings her fist to my face, nearly scrapping my nose with the cards.
She escorts K.D. to the refrigerator, opens a bottle of top-shelf liquor, and pours a strong drink without a chaser. Everyone, including Tasha, drinks from cheap disposable cups. Tasha, however, gives K.D. a glass from the cabinet. I shake my head. The first phase of her scheme is in motion.
I give my seat to a stranger at the close of the game because I haven’t seen Deidra in over thirty minutes and want to confirm she’s in the vicinity. I find her in the living room, sandwiched between two women on the couch. They’re staring at the screen of a cell phone, engaged in intense-looking conversation, as if they’ve known each other for years. She appears content so I leave her alone.
On my way back to the kitchen, the Coke and rum presses me again— a symptom of a social drinker. I bypass the card game and cut the corner for the hallway, colliding with Jacoby.
“Damn, you stepped out sexy tonight, huh?” he teases.
I push him to the wall and hurry to the bathroom.
On my way back to the kitchen, he’s waiting for me and ready to vent. “I called Tasha this morning and told her not to invite Melissa. She told me ‘I don’t talk to that hoe.’ Why was Melissa the first fucking face I saw when I walked in here? Did she say something to you?”
“No,” I say, though I actually greeted his ex to avoid an awkward stare. Melissa was Jacoby’s last real relationship; the woman who made commitment the eighth deadly sin. Since breaking up with her, Jacoby only talks to folks with no-strings-attached attitudes. “Anyway, you see Deidra? Cute as hell.”
“I did, but I didn’t speak. She rubbed me the wrong way on day one.”
“Do you remember what you called her on day one?”
“Look, I should’ve said something when you first told me she would be here tonight, but I’m not comfortable being around her. You need to tell her about…” His eyes leave mine.
I follow his gaze past my shoulder and realize why he stopped speaking.
“Good evening,” Deidra says. “Guess you couldn’t say hello to me earlier.”
“I didn’t notice you. You look a lot younger today.”
Ugh! Why Jacoby, why? I’m not dressed to referee tonight.
Deidra steps forward, her heels barely bringing her face-to-face with him. She places a hand on her hip and shifts to the right. “You mad, bro? You mad you blew the opportunity to fuck me? You mad I chose Nia instead of you? Remember, you blew the chance to taste my pussy. Not me.” She stares Jacoby squarely in the eyes, challenging him to a duel.
“Did I miss something?” I ask.
“Nah,” he says and walks out the back door.
I cross my arms. He’s hiding something.
“Hey, you know if there’s any bottled water in here?” Deidra asks, like the last twenty seconds didn’t occur.
After a moment, I move my feet and locate a pack of water in the pantry. Deidra thanks me for the water and disappears again. When I turn around to find a seat and process what I just experienced, I notice Shonda staring at me. “What the hell was that?” she asks.
I sit next to my closest cousin and shake my head. “I have no clue.” But I will surely address the issue as soon as I can.
“Are you with her?”
“No, we’re… we’re just friends.”
“Ha! Girl, you don’t know the definition of just friends. And them some midget-ass shorts she wearing. Take three stitches out and they’d be panties. Your friend is on a mission to land in somebody’s bed.”
“Mine,” I say without much thought.
“Ooh, okay. Somebody’s being a little territorial over a…” She raises a hand to her ear. “What was that? A friend?”
“Shonda, shut up!”
“Don’t get loud with me. If you like it, claim it.”
“I don’t know her.”
“Whose fault is that?”
Hands down, mine. All I’ve shared with Deidra are friendly conversations and late-night fucks. The sex is good and growing better by the week, but I don’t know anything about her besides where she lives and how she performs in bed. My ignorance— in addition to her questionable statements and words with Jacoby— has morphed into a thorn in my side. With sex, I’ve put the cart before the horse, but it isn’t too late to demand clarity on the status of our supposed friendship. If Deidra can’t clear the air about where we stand, I’ll yank the chastity belt from under my bed again. I can’t march into another week risking murky waters because emotions always spill into sex. And I can’t avoid the subject of Pat any longer. The thought of all this has me feeling irresponsible. I didn’t leave a bad relationship just to walk into a careless, sex-crazed adventure with no purpose.
Shonda and I table the conversation because of the commotion brewing across from us. Seven or so women are in a heated debate about lesbians with children, a topic that stalks lesbian circles. One woman— whom no one seems to know— is offended when a frequenter says, “Women who use’ta fuck wit’ men don’t trust real lesbians. They always waitin’ on dey kids’ deadbeat daddies to do somethin’ fa dem. I’m more uva man than they will eva be. But she can’t stay down wit’ me dough.” Her opinion pleases some and infuriates others.
Tasha is intoxicated yet sensible enough to lift the lid from the pot before the dispute spews over. “Go outside and cool off for a minute,” she advises a friend.
I’ve seen one too many near-confrontations for the night. I need to clear myself of this space, so I ask Shonda to accompany me outside. We stand in the driveway adm
iring the sprinkling of stars while ignoring the passing airplanes. Shonda updates me on the latest family news, including our alcoholic grandfather, our philandering second cousin, and my incarcerated brother. She gets most of the scoop from my mother. “You moved out and abandoned my auntie.”
True. My mother is a mild allergy; she sometimes irritates the hell out of me. I love her, but we function best with distance. “I may go by and see her next week.”
“You may? Girl, you need to stop play—”
“Nia,” Jacoby shouts. We look back as he marches out the house. “You need to go in the backyard and tell your new friend to stop flirting with K.D. before your old friend walks her drunk ass outside and kicks your new friend’s ass.”
The quickest route to save Deidra is through the house. I open the back door to find her and K.D. in close proximity, both smoking a cigarette. K.D. touches the hair along Deidra’s shoulder and briefly strokes her arm. K.D. drops the ear-to-ear smile when she realizes I’m watching them. “Let’s head out,” I say.
Deidra looks at me hard, like I don’t have a right to make a demand. “Nice meeting you,” she tells K.D. Then she follows me along the perimeter of the house. “Are you okay?”
I open the metal gate. “Yeah, it’s just time to go.”
“Okay, I need my purse. It’s in Tasha’s bedroom.”
Shit. That’s the last place I want to hear. I ask for details about her purse’s exact location and hand her my car keys. “Lock the doors,” I warn.
As soon as I walk upstairs, I hear Tasha ranting behind her closed bedroom door. I try to enter, but something or someone holds it closed. I knock and Jacoby sticks his head out. “What’s the password?” he asks.
“Now!” I answer.
He checks whether Deidra is nearby before letting me inside.
“Where is she?” Tasha’s cousin asks. Tasha stands next to her mean-mugging me.
“We’re leaving.”
“Then why are you in here?” Tasha says.
“I just came to get my purse.” I walk to the opposite side of the bed and pick up the bag at the bottom of the nightstand.
“That ain’t yours,” her cousin says.
“Damn, are you Tasha’s watchdog now?” I say and make a dash for the door.
Tasha sprints forward to block my exit. “If she wants it tell her ass to come get it!”
I plead with Tasha to chill out, but it’s a useless plea. She responds the way any jealous, intoxicated person would respond. “Give it here!” she orders, attempting to snatch the purse from my hand. Her drunken fury takes me by surprise.
We play tug-of-war with the purse strap until Jacoby intervenes. He grabs her waist, lifting her off her feet and onto the bed so I can finally leave.
The only voices in the car rise from the rear speakers. When I merge onto the southbound expressway, Deidra looks at me. My condo is in the other direction.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Let’s just call it a night.” Though frustration is written across my face, she doesn’t question my demeanor or the change in tonight’s plans.
~ * ~
I’ve been in bed for three hours, but I can’t fall asleep. My mind won’t stop replaying my encounters with Deidra over the past eight weeks. I want to figure out what’s happening. I’m so desperate for an answer that I’m starting to compare us to a cake. A cake that baked too fast. The outside browned. It smells good. A pinch from the top tastes good, but the middle is undercooked.
An hour later, I start to unpeel the layers of my dissonant feelings, finally reaching the core of discontent. How could I lend intimate parts of myself to a woman who shares substantially less in return?
Tomorrow, I will end this unrest.
11
DEIDRA AGREED TO COME OVER at 3:00. In an hour, I won’t be the woman she talks to occasionally and pleasures into the wee hours of the night. I don’t want to shatter the fantasy we’ve formed. But I can’t continue to ignore this burden I’m carrying.
I don’t know how to initiate a conversation about Pat. How do I let it spring forth naturally to avoid forced statements like ‘you been to any funerals lately?’ I have to say something less prepared, more sincere than that.
Maybe I can complain about how my mother still hopes I will come to my senses and marry a man. How she disregards that I’ve completely stopped dating and sleeping with the opposite sex. Then I’ll ask, “Does your mother do shit like that?”
As each minute passes, I add bad alternatives to my scrambled thoughts and reach a point where I can’t keep track of the ideas I’ve considered. I need an outlet, now. A way to unwind.
I lunge out of bed and head downstairs. I pull the vacuum cleaner from the laundry room to the living room and plug it into the nearest socket. The droning appliance steadies my mental pacing. I come up with better options while brushing crisp lines across the rug and around the perimeter of furniture.
In round two, I reach a solution. I’m not convinced this is the best solution, but it ranks higher than the others. I head to my bedroom closet for the shoebox stuffed with unfiled bills and other important documents. With Pat’s funeral program in hand, I run downstairs and place it on the end table, nested between the covers of two lifestyle magazines. I’m optimistic about this course of action until I loop the power cord of the vacuum back in place. Something about the circular motion helps me recall the advice I gave Tasha during breakfast. Her plans with K.D. backfired, so why would a let-Deidra-discover-it strategy work for me?
I scratch that idea and resort to plan B, opting for an amateur detective tactic. I’ll pluck Deidra with a ton of questions until I strike a harmonious cord.
The mental prep is taxing. I stretch out on the couch to rest with less than thirty minutes to recharge.
~ * ~
Deidra’s hair is tucked away in her customary bun. The modest hairstyle emphasizes every inch of her exposed skin. Her floor-length halter dress is an outright tease, an easy-access outfit. She smiles and says, “I thought you only liked me at nighttime.” Then she steps inside my house, grazing her hand against my stomach while passing. The appetite in her eyes is tempting.
I want to follow her lead and allow my thoughts to escape to our sensual safe zone. I indulge a bit, trailing her ass as she walks to the living room, the fresh scent of bath soap wafting from her skin. She’s prepared for more than conversation. When she sits on the couch and places her jean jacket aside, I remember that sex-first-secrets-later is not on the agenda.
“You drove here?” I ask to break the ice.
“Did you assume I don’t drive?”
“I don’t know a lot about you. I have to make assumptions.”
“You don’t have to stay in the dark. It’s my sister’s car. What else would you like to know?”
Her amicable mood and gentle gaze are welcoming, leading me to believe we’ve formed a connection wide enough to cross into new territory. This good start boosts my confidence in plan B. I make a strategic decision to begin with the obvious. “What exactly did you mean when you told Jacoby—”
“Wait. I guess your friend didn’t ’fess up?”
Apparently, I’m not the only one who has some ’fessing to do in here.
“The day we met,” she explains, “I was at your job with my sister and her kids. My baby niece was there for a minor procedure. I was dying of boredom and decided to take the other two to Chuck E. Cheese’s. Jacoby was standing around when we walked outside the hospital. He got my attention and tried to unload his game. Blah, blah, blah. You know how men who think they’re an ounce of attractive do. He asked where we were going and I told him. No big deal. I didn’t expect him to stalk us. The two of you showed up a few minutes later, he showed his ass, and the rest is history.”
I’m half surprised, half disturbed.
I’m surprised because Jacoby knew that Deidra would be present when we entered Chuck E. Cheese’s, whereas I foolishly believed it was serendipit
y. I’m disturbed because he pulled me along without considering how I would feel about seeing her, and because he never said anything about their prior encounter.
“So, if he was nicer, you would have slept with him instead?” I ask.
“Possibly… But I think I made a good choice.”
Strangely enough, her response doesn’t bother me. What should I expect from someone who crawled into my bed on the first date?
Deidra has given me a pass to pry, so I jump to a new topic of interest. “You sort of mentioned once that you’re not from Memphis.”
“I’m from here. I moved back about four months ago. I was in Virginia for…” She looks to the ceiling to calculate. “Thirteen years.”
Those thirteen years are integral to my scattered puzzle. Distance is one piece that separated her from the Carters. “Why’d you move back? Was the move family related?”
“I needed a long overdue change.”
Given we’re engaged in a private, daytime, and fully clothed exchange, I expected Deidra to elaborate. As usual, she’s tight-lipped about her personal life. We sit motionless for a moment. I thought she would take my silence as a cue to proceed with factual and colorful particulars about the overdue change. I want her to shower me with specifics until I’m drenched with information. Instead, she treats me like a tour guide.
I try to remain reasonable by giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s uncomfortable with this new, unfamiliar style of interaction I’ve thrown at her. With that in mind, I try again. “So, your dad, sister, and her kids live here. You got other family around?”
“Yeah. My dad’s sister, sometimes his mother, my cousins,” she answers as if they’re minor players.
“What about your mother?”
“Why?”
I control my expression and search for another route. She extended the invitation to venture into her personal life, but this avenue is off limits. Her buzzing phone distracts me, but she doesn’t move. She assesses my vibe and tries to penetrate my cloaked intentions. I’m not going to give her the chance to sort things out, so I stand and ask, “You want something to drink?”
The Dawn of Nia Page 6