I sigh. The Carters don’t care for Deidra, so I’m sure they don’t give a damn about her offspring. “I’m shocked Kayla didn’t spill the beans.”
“That bitch ain’t crazy. She won’t cross into this lane.”
This is the Deidra I missed. I take hold of her hand and attempt to wrap my mind around the idea of Kayla practicing restraint. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I finally ask.
“I protect my daughter at all costs. I won’t let my actions or your distrust of me spill into parenthood. I won’t blur those lines until it’s necessary, and we haven’t reached the point of necessary.”
I can’t dispute a word she’s said. “Well… you’re back in town. That means she’s okay?”
She looks at me affectionately, as if no one outside of Virginia has ever expressed concern for her daughter. “Yeah. Shannon is fine. Her asthma attacks come and go.”
“How does Shannon feel about you being so far away?”
“She understands. I prefer us to be together, but I can’t force her to leave her school, family, or father.”
I clear my throat. I almost forgot about him. “So, where did you stay?”
She grins. “I stayed with a friend, and I slept alone.”
She doesn’t ask the same in return. She knows I don’t have a standby cuddle-buddy on speed dial.
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask.
“At my sister’s.”
I start the car and head south for a quick pick-up.
26
THIS PROBABLY ISN’T THE BEST TIME to ask Deidra about her sexual orientation because we’re in the midst of a date. A cozy table by a wall fountain type of date. I’m wearing makeup, a revealing dress, and I’m footing the bill type of date. But, I think my efforts should be rewarded. And right now I’m in the mood for honesty, so I have to ask. “Are you bi?”
“I left my phone on the nightstand so we can have a romantic evening without interruption,” she says. “You call that romantic? Why in the world would you wait until now to question my sexuality?”
“I’m not trying to spoil anything. And I’m not questioning you. You’ve skirted around this for months.”
Deidra places her fork on her grilled vegetables platter before leaning back in her seat. When she looks past my shoulder, I wonder whether she’s concocting an answer or thinking about why I feel like she’s been evasive. She leans forward to continue the conversation, the lantern between us dancing in her eyes. “I’m fluid when it comes to sex. When it comes to my heart, I’m a born-again lesbian.”
I don’t understand why she wasn’t direct prior to today. I know how opinionated some folks are about bisexuality. But have I said something that suggests I would judge her unfairly?
“I didn’t broach the subject,” she says, reading my thoughts as usual, “because my history, my fluidity, is inconsequential to where I am now. To who I’m with now. What we want for each other today and moving forward is all the matters.”
“Are you coaxing me?”
She smiles. “I’m answering you. And you didn’t answer me. Why now?”
“They were talking about folks with bi partners on the radio yesterday, so I figured I would ask. That sounds silly, but hey. If I had an issue with your history I wouldn’t have waited to address it. I’m not concerned with labels either. I don’t care who you do until you start doing me… When did you experience this rebirth?”
“Two years ago when my husband arranged a threesome.”
I contort my face as if the air has turned foul. I appreciate her frankness, but she could exercise discretion. “I’m a product of your husband’s fantasies?” I push my plate to the side, no longer interested in savoring steak or lobster macaroni. “What’s his name?”
“Eric, why?”
“I can dislike him more with a name.”
She gives me a moment to relish my disdain for him. “Listen, I liked women before the threesome.”
“Then why’d you have a baby by a man at sixteen and marry him at eighteen?”
“The baby was an oops. I married him because I had to. I was living in backwoods Mississippi in poverty,” she stresses, “with a father and grandmother who didn’t have much time for parental guidance. Eric was my out. It took a while, but the threesome helped me realize it was time to start making my own decisions and being honest about some things.”
The waiter appears and inquires about dessert. “What’s the sweetest thing on the menu?” I ask. I need it to mask the sour taste in my mouth.
As soon as the waiter departs our table, Deidra says, “You’re uncomfortable with what I said. You’re forcing your facial expressions.”
“I just discovered my first pet peeve with you. Stop observing me so much.”
“I can’t help it. I care about the way you feel. So, why did you break up with Kayla?”
My jaw falls open.
“You opened this door,” she says.
I sip red wine and consider whether I want to venture into memories of regret and resentment. Then I take another sip to prepare for the following: “I thought my bottom line was cheating, turned out to be psychological abuse.” Deidra raises an eyebrow, eager for me to continue. “The guilt trips. The emotional manipulation. The ego! Nothing’s worse than a woman with an ego. ‘You’ll never have a woman better than me.’ ‘You should be glad I’m with you.’ ‘What would you do without me?’ ” I say, mocking Kayla’s squeaky voice. “She’d never admit to flaunting an air of power. And she always threatened my livelihood, especially when it came to my job.” I pause to sip. “I’ll never forget the time I had to go to work but couldn’t find my car keys. So she drove me to work but found the keys before it was time to pick me up. It took about a week before it struck me that my keys were never misplaced. The fact that she hid them scared the shit out of me. And the fact that I couldn’t smell the manipulation anymore even though it was right under my nose… Anyway, that killed our relationship and my faith in future ones.” I exhale and finish the glass of wine. I feel like I’ve just purged to my work buddy, Maria.
“That’s messed up, but I hope that’s not the case.”
“I’m working on it,” I say as we stare into each other’s eyes. A rich moment of understanding. And I remain understanding for my next question: “Is Eric providing for you?”
“You know the answer.”
I do. “Be specific.”
“I have health insurance and access to the bank accounts. And he’s paying the bills. I’m moving toward self-sufficiency, but it’s going to take a little while to get there.”
Deidra doesn’t seem like a woman who would let a man take care of her. I lean back in my seat as my mind drifts. I can’t imagine her feeding him the first bite of a meal prepared by her hands as she so sweetly does with me. Or inching her hands up the back of his shirt after a stressful day of work, caressing away the complaints of employment. Eventually, I focus to ask, “He’s paying what bills?”
“I rarely use the credit cards. He pays the cell phone bill every month.”
I couldn’t care less whether Deidra is taking advantage of him, except I take major issue with the cell phone service. Arguably, the cell phone is something we share. He shouldn’t be a part of it. “Is it a shared plan?”
“It is.”
“Good thing you’re free tomorrow to shop for new service.”
She laughs.
“I’m serious. And let me be clear. From this point forward, if you need something, come to me… What does he get in return?”
“I play nice in return. I let Shannon stay with him. I haven’t filed for divorce yet. I haven’t acted immaturely by wiping him clean, airing his dirty laundry, running away with one of his overrated cars, or pawning the wedding rings. Not that I care, but he sleeps with whomever he pleases.”
“Deidra, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. You’re on marital hiatus and he’s providing for you because he expects you to come back.”
“He has fa
lse hope.”
“What happens when he realizes he’s wrong?”
She fixes her eyes on the approaching waiter. After our dessert is placed on the table, she answers, “Hopefully, Eric won’t come to that realization before Shannon graduates. And you’re right: he thinks this period of separation will get us back on track. I can’t pull away as much as I want right now. If I do, it will affect Shannon.”
I don’t like that she’s stalling, but I try to respect the choices she must make for her daughter right now. “Okay. I get it.”
“Good. And speaking of failed relationships, did you ever love Kayla?”
“I mistook love for Pat as love for Kayla.”
Deidra usually groans or rolls her eyes whenever I mention Pat, but this time she gives a sympathetic nod. It’s a deliberate effort in honor of our date. I pray to heaven she will honor my next question: “Did you ever love Pat?”
“I despised her.”
I stick a hunk of chocolate caramel cheesecake in my mouth, letting the cool gooeyness occupy my tongue instead of reacting to her words.
I must have another forced expression across my face because she looks at me and says, “I’m sorry. I…” She eats her dessert, allowing berries and vanilla bean ice cream to sweeten her response. “I don’t know… It’s hard to have that kind of emotion for someone who had the means to raise me but no capacity to love me. Pat never completely withdrew herself from my life. She called on my birthday and she never missed a Christmas gift. I associated the tangibles as love because I wanted her to love me. There were so many nights that I begged God for her love, that I begged for her to rescue me. But when I got pregnant, she disappeared. I guess pregnancy marked the end of my childhood and her obligation. It’s a betrayal words can never give justice to.”
That’s hard to hear. We feel a light-year of difference about the same woman. I nearly lose my composure when a tear rolls down Deidra’s face. She quickly wipes it away and drops her eyes. “And now my emotions are betraying me,” she says. “This is why I don’t drink.” She pushes the wine she’s barely touched to the center of the table. She only ordered it for me. Only because I wanted to see her sexy lips on the rim. And then I would lean forward and taste them.
I reach for her hand. “As much as we hate it, emotions are loyal companions.”
She caresses my fingers and smiles. “Okay, can we shut this door now?”
Gladly. This get-to-know-you-session has become too much for public display anyway.
~ * ~
Taillights, horns, and music liven the downtown cityscape as we walk with entwined arms under the midnight sky. The night is still young. The cool April air is suitable for strolling. I, however, want to cut the dillydally walk short and head home.
Deidra disagrees. “We look too good to be alone right now. We should strut down Beale Street.” She playfully pulls at the hem of my backless dress. “You did all this to eat and go home?”
I indeed put a lot of time and energy into our date by shopping for a new dress and permitting Shonda to press my growing hair. She sent my teeny weeny Afro on vacation for the weekend. Playing dress-up for two hours has been thrilling, but Deidra’s titillating dress— with keyholes along the torso— is steering me to a one-track mind. I’m ready to go home and have her to myself— ready to be the only one stealing her attention and sneaking peeps her way. She doesn’t mind accompanying me back home after I pull her close and reveal what I really want for dessert.
When I pull into the garage and kill the ignition, Deidra caresses my thigh. “Follow me.” I meet her at the door and we lock fingers as she leads me upstairs and to the bedroom. It isn’t like I need a guide. Instead, she’s showing me that I’m in store for a night we have yet to experience. She pulls me along, allowing me to revel in her lemon-scented perfume and the sway of hips coated in skin-tight fabric.
She keeps the lights off when we step into the bedroom. She lets go of my fingers and opens the shutters to illuminate the shadows on our faces. I love the combination of moonlight and Deidra. The soft beam transforms her curves to rolling silk. And it makes her skin different, like she’s airbrushed in brown. She looks flawless, as if a divine hand transformed her right before my eyes. She’s a goddess now. This is exactly why I wanted to come home.
She takes my hand again, pulling me closer to the bed— our final destination. She wraps my arms around her waist, leaning her head back to rest on my shoulder. The mango-infused Shea butter in her hair delights my nose. Our faces meet and she whispers, “Do you want me?”
“This is exactly why I wanted to come home,” I say with my fingers inching up her spine. I unzip her dress to unleash the sights and sounds I’ve been waiting to experience. My palms fall down the phoenix tattoo I noticed the first day we met; the ink masks a scar from a childhood accident; fingertips falling to the small of her back; palms, again, tracing the valley that leads to her hips as her dress travels south.
Lately, I’ve noticed a shift in the sex. It’s starting to resemble lovemaking. She’s craving the experience as much as the act, and she’s beginning to trust me. She lets me lead more, but I can’t linger or do as I please with her body for too long— a sign of a woman who spent too much time under a man who selfishly touched her. I never let images of him piercing the canal I love to explore taint our intimacy. But sometimes, I wonder whether I truly satisfy her. Do my kisses satiate her appetite for affection? Do my hands quench her thirst for intimacy? Do I cradle her, lift her, and fill her as much as she needs?
“Yes,” she whispers. I pretend she’s responding to my inner thoughts, though she’s answering the question I spoke into her ear: “You want this?”
“Mm-hmm,” she moans with melody. So I continue to provide her with what she desires: a steady tongue as she slides her clit to the gates of ecstasy. She cups the back of my head to draw me closer and intensify her mounting happiness, her hips dancing to the rhythm of our lips.
I push my hands beyond her thighs and onto her stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall of her belly in tempo to her aching moans— a plea to gain entry to the city of orgasmic bliss. I have unilateral power to grant her admission, but I choose to deny it. Instead, I rise from my knees and close her legs as I join her in the bed.
She continues to lie on her backside— enjoying the residual sensation of my tongue play. I stretch out next to her and stare into her eyes. She smiles, knowing it’s time to return the favor. She unzips my dress and laughs when she realizes there are no undergarments to follow. “You never cease to amaze me,” she says and nudges my waist. “Turn over.”
I roll to my stomach and rest my head on crossed hands. The smile on my face exposes my impatience. Deidra climbs onto my ass, her slick pussy gracing my skin. She leans forward, pressing her goodness into me even more as she massages my shoulders and traces her skilled hands along my waist.
“Please don’t make me wait,” I say.
She teases me, her fingertips tickling the contours of my torso, all because I robbed her of an orgasm.
“Please,” I beg.
Finally, she rises from my body. When cooler air meets the wetness lingering from my oral play, chills race down my spine, inducing goose bumps along my arms. She leans forward and rests her full breasts on my neck. Their radiant heat makes me draw a deep breath.
“Now or later?” she asks.
“Now,” I order.
Slowly, slowly, just as I like, she slides her velvet bosom from my neck to the edge of my back. “Damn,” I say when she gradually rubs in the opposite direction. When she reaches my neck, she saturates my lips with kisses and repositions her breasts to do it again. And again.
I love this shit but prefer that it’s short-lived, which gives me something to look forward to during the week— especially given I’ve asked Deidra to save special massages for weekends.
Now that I’m satisfied and spoiled, I want to explore the new bounds of our lovemaking. I’m ready to give her full citizenry
to cum-land. I slap her ass and she assumes an all-fours position, arching her back to relax her abdominal and vaginal muscles in preparation of my entry. I adjust her a little so she can’t maintain the arched stance. I want to constrict her muscles as I insert more fingers than she expects. I know from experience that it feels better when it hurts a bit. The lustful sounds of her crying out to a higher power and interjecting my name… This is exactly why I wanted to come home.
27
I’M AWAKE IN BED alone with suffocating thoughts. Never in my life have 365 days passed by this quickly. I can’t believe I haven’t talked with Pat, vented with her, or broken bread with her in a year. She’s a missing slice of my pie that hasn’t been filled by my friends or Deidra. Thankfully, the anniversary of her death didn’t land on a workday. I have the refuge of the weekend to grieve.
I stare at the closet door reflecting on last Saturday. Deidra and I were weaving through a crowded music festival at the river when Pat’s voice caught my ear. I felt an urge to scan the faces around me and identify the source. Although the familiar, raspy voice emanated from a stranger, the experience was comforting.
I want to drift asleep and summon a dream that will bring her voice to me again. I wiggle into a comfortable position to slow my thoughts and compartmentalize my sorrow. I’m floating to celestial realms, seconds away from dreaming when Deidra bumps my leg. I flinch.
“You plan on sleeping all morning?” she asks.
“I want to,” I mumble.
“I want to go out for breakfast.”
Fully conscious and past the point of no return for sleep, I sit upright and kick my feet out the sheets. “Where?”
“Your choice.”
“I don’t care, as long as we go to the cemetery first.”
“Cemetery?”
Deidra is usually perceptive, though now she’s offensive and oblivious. I shake my head and sigh with disappointment, my reaction a clue to her omission.
There’s nothing she can say to take back the emotional jolt of her response. So she humbles herself and says, “I’m okay with that.” She grabs my hands and pulls me out of bed.
The Dawn of Nia Page 12