The Dawn of Nia

by Lauren Cherelle

  When are you coming home?

  I don’t know.

  I miss you.

  She doesn’t reply.

  Is this necessary?

  No reply.

  Her distance pisses me off to the point that I need to channel my frustrations. Still holding my phone, I think about the core of this problem, the prime reason I don’t have Deidra in the bed next to me. I open my contacts, press C, and scroll to my target. Though nearly midnight Caroline promptly answers my call.

  “This is unexpected,” she says.

  “If you got something to say, you can say it to me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your family doesn’t jump until you tell them how high, so I know Kayla called us because you ordered her to.”

  “Listen, girl. I can speak for myself. You need to teach Deidra how to do the same.”

  “Teach? You’re the only one who needs to learn how to do something. So learn how to fall back and realize that Deidra doesn’t want shit to do with you. After that, learn how to move on because you won’t get a damn thing from Pat’s estate. Leave us alone!”

  I end the call and stare at the closet door. I feel strange about my nasty and aggressive tone. I once had so much respect for Caroline. She was Pat’s sister, my extended family. But now I can’t believe her actions and their ongoing chase for Pat’s money.

  My moment of remorse doesn’t last long. Now that I’ve vented, I feel so much better, even a bit hopeful. So I lift my phone to text Deidra again.

  Baby.

  What?

  How can I get you home?

  I wait so long for her reply that I fall asleep.

  ~ * ~

  The next morning, I’m overwhelmed with sadness. It’s a sadness I never felt before falling in love. This kind of love makes me care deeply. In the depths of love, the smallest things matter. And they matter immensely while sad.

  The routine workday helps lift my spirit, but after work I need to talk to someone. Too bad Maria is on vacation. Jacoby isn’t an option, and neither is Tasha. She’s too friendly with Deidra, too biased. So I contact Shonda while driving home. I monopolize the conversation by explaining why Deidra hasn’t slept by my side the past two nights.

  “Dang,” Shonda cuts me off. “Is it that serious? You didn’t fuck Kayla— again.” She chuckles. “All you did was have cheap-ass lunch with her. Deidra should be glad you went ’cause now y’all know where the Carters stand.”

  I exhale. I understand Shonda’s viewpoint, but she’s never been in love. She hasn’t learned that lovers can argue or separate over anything— no matter how large or small the infraction.

  “Buy something she likes and take it over there,” she suggests. “You know we like to be spoiled. We like to be chased, too. So do it today.”

  “Deidra does things in her own time,” I explain. She also likes simple pleasures. Cooking. The local news. Quality time with family. Going out every now and then. The last thing she’ll appreciate is some expensive or perishable gift. I thank Shonda for the suggestions and then focus on getting home safely.

  Being home only exacerbates my loneliness. Rather than sit around and drive myself crazy, I seek company. When Tasha doesn’t answer my call, I reach out to Jacoby. He’s tamed his aggression toward Deidra since the blow-up at the restaurant. Two days after the episode, he called with an apology. As soon as I answered the phone he said, “Are we cool?”

  “What? You better come correct.”

  “Okay… I apologize.”

  “Apologize for what?”

  He laughed. “Damn, you my mama now?”

  “Bye,” I threatened.

  “Okay!” he said and listed his wrongs.

  Since that conversation, we’ve been on good terms again. I established some rules and boundaries, and he continues to abide by them.

  “You still at work?” I ask.

  “Nah, at home. But I’m headed out. You should come with me. I’m going to this networking event type thing.”

  I don’t have anything to do, so I throw on a simple gray dress to accompany him. Hopefully, the trip will help ease my loneliness. Jacoby picks me up and twenty minutes later we reach The Winery II— a restaurant/venue I’ve passed many times but never visited. We enter a Tuscan-themed foyer and two women at a registration table greet us.

  The loud-talking one informs me this is a monthly networking event hosted by a Black professionals Meetup group. “We meet every fourth Wednesday,” she says. I thank her for the clarification and she hands me a nametag and blue Sharpie. I despise nametags so I write Vicki with heart-shaped dotted I’s.

  “Why are we here?” I ask as we walk away to mingle and do whatever else we’re supposed to do at a networking event.

  “I wanna meet new people,” Jacoby says.

  “Are clubs and bars beneath you now?”

  He grins. “I need to diversify my contacts.”

  I settle with “okay.” In actuality, he’s slept with too many people in overlapping circles. He’s leaping into new and unknown territory to expand his horizon.

  We walk upstairs to a large meeting room. I look around unsure what to do next. About one hundred people are mingling in mini semi-circles or chitchatting with the row of vendors. Almost everyone has a clear cup in hand. I follow the social cue, grabbing punch while Jacoby fixes a plate of finger foods. Then we find seats along the wall to further scope out the place before getting into the mix.

  I’m not a large crowd or mingle with strangers type of woman, so I find the seat comforting. I prefer to chill and sip in the company of people I know. My idea of networking is calling a friend or family member to ask whether they know someone who can help me find or fix something or get a discount on this or that.

  While people watching, I notice that the double-doors on the far wall open to a balcony. “Let’s go outside for a minute.” We start to weave through the crowd. But weaving means passing a dozen semi-circles of chatters, and in passing we’re bound to interact. And not far from the balcony we’re beckoned to interact.

  “Are ya newbies?” asks a stout man in a black suit.

  “Yes,” I confirm.

  “Delighted to meet ya, Vicki,” he says, offering his hand.

  Jacoby glances at the nametag on my chest as I shake the man’s wide hand. As the three of us chat about the monthly meet-up, two ladies and another guy join us, completing and authenticating our semi-circle. Jacoby threw his plate away, but I still have my cup in hand. Appearance-wise, I fit right in. I let everyone else do the talking and learn that the two with the matching dress and tie are married. This piques Jacoby’s interest. Whenever his hormone antennas fly up, he enunciates, keeping all prefixes and suffixes on his words. And he crosses his arms and strokes his chin while speaking, as if he’s an intellectual and debonair gentleman.

  I’m unsure whether this highfalutin act is for the husband or wife until the husband says, “What do you do?”

  Jacoby replies, “I save lives.”

  After a few more minutes of meaningless talk and business card collecting, I pull Jacoby away to the balcony. His eyes, however, stay in the room in pursuit of that lady’s husband.

  Only close friends are aware that Jacoby plays on both sides of the fence. He would never admit his discomfort with bisexuality, though it shows loud and clear through his guarded actions. I didn’t know he had a taste for men prior to our three-month fling. During month two, when I confided in him about my attraction to women, he disclosed his bisexuality. Through the years, I thought his friendships with women who openly love women would help him gain confidence with the spectrum of human sexuality. Fast-forward and he still keeps a death grip on his straight-boy privilege.

  The September air is cool and comfortable and I’m happy to have something occupying my mind, even if for a brief time. We have the balcony to ourselves until two women step outside to chat with Jacoby. He’s a well-dressed, decent-looking brother, so there’s no way these women will
miss the opportunity to meet a prospective eligible bachelor at a professional’s event. And they swoon as soon as they start to talk and find out he’s a bona fide nurse. A male nurse. By virtue of his profession he’s a nurturing, sensitive, and dedicated man. They have no idea. Thankfully, Jacoby isn’t wearing scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck. On those occasions, women don’t ask his occupation. They assume he’s a physician. Physician or not, the panties come off after one hospital horror story and a wink.

  “Are y’all related?” the busty one asks me.

  “We’re friends,” I plainly answer, giving Jacoby the opportunity to engage with her.

  He pulls me close and squeezes my arm. He looks through her, waiting for me to continue or curb the conversation.

  “Oh. Good friends?” she asks.

  “Great friends.” I rub his back to play along. But really, I’m doing her a favor.

  “Well,” she says, “it was good meeting you.” She hands him a business card, letting her fingers linger in his hand. “Feel free to stop by any time.” She smiles and strolls off with her buddy.

  “Thanks, Vicki,” Jacoby says. “Come with me. I need an assist with something else.”

  I follow Jacoby back inside and refill my cup. Then we return to the seats along the wall. We’re still until he places an arm across my shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t move,” he says, stroking my arm. “Dude is feeling me.” I peer across the room at the husband. I doubt that he noticed our return. “Men like that prefer a man with a woman. Look at me and smile.”

  “What?” I manage to ask before laughing.

  “I’m serious. Act like I’m turning you on.”

  Something about this is amusing. Now I want to see whether our fake attraction will actually bait this married man. I turn to Jacoby, our faces just inches apart. Two seconds later, Jacoby winks and I lose my cool. He wipes my spit shower from his face and I continue to giggle.

  It takes a moment to kill my laughter, but I pull myself together. I look forward and place my hand on his thigh. Then he leans into my ear and says, “Kiss me.”

  “Hell no!” I lean away from him, almost spilling punch in my lap.

  “Just one kiss.”

  “Game over, lover boy.” Though I refuse to continue with the antics, our public display of affection must have appeared authentic. Minutes later, the husband parts from his wife and Jacoby bolts from his chair.

  I fill the time by texting Deidra: I miss you.

  Where are you?

  I reply with strategy: Bored in bed.

  I came by. You weren’t there. So again where are you?

  “Damn,” I say aloud. I press the phone icon to call her and confess. “I’m at a networking event.”

  “Why didn’t you say that at first?”

  “I wanted you to have pity on me.”

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow after work. I’m babysitting tonight.”

  I’m disappointed with the delay but comforted by the next-day guarantee. I feel even better when she promises to answer my call once I get home tonight.

  When Jacoby returns, we leave the event. I don’t ask whether his private balcony session with the husband was worthwhile, and he doesn’t offer any details besides “glad I came.”

  As we approach the boulevard that leads to a cluster of chain restaurants, he says, “You wanna get something to eat?”

  “Uh-uh. I just wanna pour myself a glass of wine, get in the bed, and call Deidra.”

  “Call her?”

  I sigh. “She’s been gone a couple of days.”

  He chuckles. “Trouble in paradise?”

  I shoot him a nasty look.

  “What happened?” he asks. “She don’t need you no more? She’s ready to move on?”

  “I didn’t say one thing about you locking down a booty call on a balcony, but you trying to talk shit to me?” Here we go again. “You need to remember the definition of friend.”

  He turns left at the light, bobbing his head to Reggae, ignoring my words and mounting anger.

  I’ll be damned if he minimizes with silence. “You know something,” I say. “Pull over.” I’m on the verge of slipping off a heel and stabbing him in the eye so he can’t look at a down-low man or interested woman the same way ever again. I need to make an immediate exit for my safety and sanity.

  “What?” he asks to confirm whether I’m serious.

  I unbuckle my seat belt. “Hit the motherfucking brakes!”

  Jacoby veers into the parking lot of an abandoned building. When I pull the door handle, he grabs my wrist. “You can’t get out a moving car.”

  As soon as he stops and lets me go, I push the door open. “I’m a good friend,” he says to stop me.

  I get out anyway and glance around the derelict lot. I want to leave, but I shouldn’t wander alone on this street.

  “You’re doing the most. Get back in,” he says.

  Conflicted, I climb back inside and close the door. But we don’t say anything. He’s staring out the driver’s side window and I’m gripping my phone. I don’t know whether he’s trying to figure out what to say to me, but I’m trying to figure out how I can get home. “Nia,” he says, calmly. “I’ve been everything a friend should be and more… I’m your man.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When Kayla and them other bitches fucked you over, I was there for you. When you fight with Deidra and she walks out on you, I’m here. I’m always here for you.”

  “Okay, congratulations. But you don’t have a right to fight me whenever I don’t live my life according to the Book of Jacoby. I don’t appreciate you being combative and shit.”

  He gazes into the distance. “Look, I’m tired of the double standard. Kayla fucked with your heart over and over and you gave her chance after chance. Shit, three years’ worth of chances. Then you get with a married, two-faced, fake-ass lesbian with ulterior motives and claim she’s the love of your life? I guess I wasn’t shit! We hit a bump in the road and you left me there like road kill… But I manned up. I didn’t deserve you back then, but I never walked away. I waited… for years. Where the hell was my second chance?”

  I exhale. I can’t remember the last time Jacoby shared his deeper emotions and pains. When Jacoby and I ended our tattered relationship, I didn’t believe we’d lost anything. We weren’t in love, so love wasn’t lost. We didn’t share money, a home, or anything else substantial. Now, I realize he did lose something along the way. He lost the possibility of rekindling our affair.

  I understand his position, but he needs to recognize what I was experiencing. “I was a work in progress, Jacoby. I told you my desire for women was growing by the day. You knew I couldn’t keep forcing my attraction to men… to you.”

  “I couldn’t tell when we were fucking.”

  “Why does everything boil down to sex with you?”

  “Because your words mean nothing. I go by your actions. You’ve always kept me close.”

  My thoughts run to all the times I needed Jacoby’s help; the times I needed a listening ear; the times we hung out at each other’s homes; the SVU episodes; the Saturday-morning breakfasts; the lunches at work. All those times were an extension of our friendship. Why would he expect more?

  I quickly push myself out the SUV, leaving the door open. He jumps out and runs over to stop me. “Where are you going?”

  “Just leave!” I say, stepping around him.

  “Look around. It’s getting dark and we’re a block from the hood. I’ll take you home.”

  I shake my head, dropping my eyes to search deep inside. Then I turn around and approach him to share my thoughts. “I’m sorry for disregarding your feelings for so long… but where do we go from here? I’m in love with Deidra and you can’t shit on my relationship because you didn’t get what you wanted from me. Nothing’s going to change.”

  He steps away and rubs his forehead. The droning engine and passing cars smother the silence between u
s. He turns to me with defeated eyes and says, “Fine. Let’s go.”

  “No,” I say just above a whisper.

  Jacoby closes the passenger door and takes the driver’s seat. He slowly approaches and drops the window. “Is this how it is?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  I’m hurt when Jacoby backs up and drives away. I’m even more disappointed when I don’t see his taillights in the distance. I keep expecting him to show up as I’m walking to the nearest establishment. I fight the urge to glance back again.

  I pull out my cell phone for a rescue as I hurriedly walk the four-block trek to a fast food restaurant. Before I Google a cab company, I decide to try Tasha first. Thankfully, she’s in her car and only a few miles away from me. I’m too self-conscious to stand outside of Burger King while waiting for her. So I enter the building and order a Coke. I sit near the entrance, hoping I blend in. This beverage doesn’t camouflage me as well as the one at the networking event.

  Nearly ten minutes later Tasha calls and says she’s outside. I walk out and notice someone in the passenger seat. I wish she was alone, but I’m in no position to complain. I keep quiet and get in the backseat.

  “What happened?” Tasha asks.

  “Just take me home.”

  She turns around and pulls off. I close my eyes and rest against the seat. I’m so agitated that I feel like I’m floating. And I’m embarrassed and disheartened. All this emotional shit over the past few days is draining. After a while, I open my eyes and behave civilly.

  “Hey,” I say to Sabrina.

  She glances over her shoulder and quickly speaks as if she doesn’t want to further upset me. Funny how Sabrina was the friend with benefits that Tasha had reservations about dating. But here they are, together on a Wednesday, holding hands and happy. I’m glad to see something good transpiring.

  “Tasha, I’m done with Jacoby.”

  She examines me in the rearview mirror. “You just need to sleep it off.”

  “I’m serious. Hell, according to him, we’ve been in a sexless relationship for three, four, five years. And I’ve been pretending like I’m not his woman.”

  Tasha shakes her head. “Girl, you need to sit back and put your seatbelt on.”