The traffic was light enough for me to drive up to my stepmother’s house approximately thirty minutes later. A moderate three-bedroom structure sheltered by trees with a paved walkway, a patio surrounded by her vegetable gardens, the tranquility that surrounded the property immediately calmed my mind. That was the reason I loved coming here. Unlike my father, she wouldn’t tell me at almost forty years I should have had all my ducks lined up in a row to avoid situations like this.
I let Miss Puss out of the car, and she followed me dutifully, tail in the air, steps poised with grace. She didn’t even show any interest in the new surroundings but looked bored.
Although Nadine always left her front door unlocked, I knocked all the same because she wasn’t expecting me. If I’d learned one thing from being doused in hair spray, it was to announce my presence when I entered another person’s property.
The door opened and Nadine appeared, scowling when she saw me. She was a good foot shorter than me, but it never deterred her from disciplining me when it had called for it.
“Son, why didn’t you call to tell me you were on your way?” she scolded but opened her arms for a hug. “Come here and give me some sugar.”
Laughing, I dutifully sugared her up with a hug and a kiss on her brown cheek. “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore, ma’am,” I said, releasing her.
“But I would have been better prepared instead of having you catch me elbow-deep in flour.”
I sniffed the air. “Is that corn pudding I smell?”
She tapped me on the nose. “Yes, it is.” She shuffled aside. “Come on in.” She stared after the cat who sauntered inside ahead of me. “Oh, you brought me a cat?”
“I wish, but I’m stuck with her for the time being.”
“I never pegged you for a cat person,” she replied as I scooped Miss Puss into my arms so I could keep an eye on her. The last thing I needed was to lose Jason’s cat all the way out here.
“I’m not,” I answered, following her along the hall to the kitchen. I located a chair and deposited the cat, who walked around gingerly as if testing the cushion before settling down. “I just got roped into pet sitting for a friend.”
“Sounds like something romantic.” She returned to the table where she had a mixing bowl and other baking ingredients. “Tell me all about it.”
Without asking, I went over to the sink to wash my hands. I knew the routine by now anyway. “There’s nothing romantic involved,” I lied, wiping my hands with a paper towel. “The cat’s Jason’s.”
“Oh, you mean that young man you’re afraid to admit you have feelings for?”
I groaned, moving by her side at the stove to be her measuring boy and hand her the ingredients she needed for the mixture she was bringing to a boil on the stove.
“I’m not afraid to admit anything because there’s nothing to admit.”
“Hmm-mmm. And that’s why you traveled sixteen miles with a cat in your car to come see me.”
“Even if there’s any interest, it just won’t happen. You do remember his mother is my best friend, right?”
She frowned, and I knew what was coming, because she never quite approved of Becca and her unorthodox mothering. Or in Becca’s terms “friending.”
“You’re a nurturer,” she said. “No wonder he turned to you because that’s not what he got as a child growing up from a mother like that.”
“Come on, ma’am, you know I don’t like to discuss Becca like that. She’s a good mother.”
“Mother? I thought she was more interested in being a friend to that boy than anything else. I could never understand why she made such a foolish decision.”
I sighed. “I don’t know, but I don’t question it. Their relationship works for them. They love and understand each other. There’s nothing wrong with being a friend to your child.”
She handed me the spoon, and without question I stirred as she added the ingredients from the table. Nutmeg, salt, vanilla extract, cinnamon powder. I’d watched her do this so many times, yet no matter how I tried, I never could get my corn pudding to taste quite like hers.
“I didn’t say not to form a friendship with your child,” she answered. “But there has to be a balance. Friends are a dime a dozen, but you only have one mother or one father. Well, in some cases two, but you know what I mean.”
“Now don’t even start with me about Dad,” I stated before she could go any further.
“And why not? He says he’s been trying to get in touch with you, but you’ve been ignoring his calls.”
I stopped stirring to stare at her. “What are you doing? Taking his side now?”
“You know I don’t take sides.”
“Not what he said. He thinks you took my side. Isn’t that why you divorced?”
“Keep stirring,” she said, and I picked up the motion. “Our divorce was a long time coming before that last argument, but there was no way I could stay with him seeing the way he treated you. What kind of mother would I have been?”
“You’re the best,” I told her. “And you make the best corn pudding.”
“Still can’t get it quite right, can you?”
“Nope. I think I’ve given up trying.”
“Once you get your head around the consistency, you’ll get it perfect,” she encouraged. “It’s just the concept of our pudding is very different from what you’re used to or what you’ve formally been taught.”
We continued working in silence until we had the mixture in the oven. I didn’t even feel the need to fill the quiet with nonsensical chatter. For me, working in the kitchen, the utensils did all the chattering that was necessary. A wave of nostalgia hit me when she closed the door of the oven.
“I lost my job,” I blurted out, unable to look at her and face her disappointment. She had been so pleased when I got the job at the restaurant and even more so when they had allowed me to diversify the menu.
She placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I know, my dear. It was quite unfortunate. I have some soursop juice in the fridge and shrimp patties I baked yesterday. Have a seat and tell me all about what happened.”
I gave her the brief version, and by the time I was finished talking about it, I had worked myself up to anger again.
“I just can’t believe they misled me all this time about the promotion,” I ended, gulping the soursop juice and wiping my upper lip with the back of my hand. “I’m not an idiot, and management outright told me last year that the position was mine once it was available. I just know that somehow this is Lawrence’s doing, but even if I had the opportunity to prove it now, it hardly matters. I owe them lots of money for the damage I did to the restaurant equipment. How am I going to dig my way out of this one?”
“Take a step back and let things happen for a while,” she answered. “Things may be tough for now, but be optimistic and everything will be all right.”
She started singing “Don’t Worry About a Thing” by Bob Marley, and despite myself, I smiled at her attempt to cheer me up.
“Don’t make me feel better, ma’am. I want to stay mad at me for losing my shit and at Lawrence for fucking me over. I wish I could get him back.”
“No cussing in my house,” she reprimanded, standing to pour me another glass of the juice. “There’s a saying back in my country that the higher the monkey climbs, the more his tail is exposed. You don’t have to take action against this man. He’ll get what’s coming to him in one form or another. That karma’s a bitch.”
I stared at her in surprise. “I thought you said no cussing in your house.”
“Well, this is my house now, ain’t it? Who’s going to enforce the rules?”
I chuckled, relaxing where moments ago I’d been so uptight. I couldn’t say I agreed with everything she had to say, but for now, I didn’t feel the weight of the bill I had burning a hole in my drawer. If only Miss Puss could get her claws on that and make it nonexistent, but that was only wishful thinking.
Lawrence would e
nsure I paid off every single penny to repair the damages I had done.
Chapter Eleven
Jason
“Are you going to watch the drag show again?” Becca asked from the living room, staring at the blank wall where the TV used to be. “’Cause this would be perfect.”
I frowned at her, patting at my perfectly brushed, combed, and spritzed hair. “No, I’m going to check on Miss Puss. Why?”
“Nothing. Just can you stay a little longer this time?” she asked. “I might invite company over, and I wouldn’t want to shock you or anything.”
I swallowed hard at her flippant tone and went for casual as I asked her, “That guy two days ago left an impression, huh? He’s making a reappearance so soon?”
“Oh no. Different guy.”
I stared at her while she crammed popcorn into her mouth. Something was up with her, and she wouldn’t say what. I hated that I didn’t have the time to sit down and talk it out with her, but I hadn’t seen Miss Puss all day, plus I got my first paycheck today and I wanted to take Lucas out to thank him for being so understanding and keeping my cat. We would have to go somewhere cheap and perhaps order tap water and the free bread, but I would take him out.
“Why don’t you cancel your date, Becca,” I told her. “I can’t talk right now, but when I get back in later tonight, we’ll have a girls’ night, paint our toenails, and talk about this recent obsession with boys that I have no interest in.”
She laughed. “Maybe that’s why I date them, because you’re not interested in them and can’t accuse me of stealing any more of your love interests.”
“You know I was kidding about that. I’m worried about you, Becca.” I never meant to add the last bit, but it was the truth. She hadn’t been acting like herself lately. She had a healthy appetite for the other sex—sometimes of the same sex too—but she only got this bad when something big was going on with her. I’d been so preoccupied with moving back, the new job, and chasing Lucas that I hadn’t been paying much attention to her.
She must have heard the concern in my voice because she surged to her feet and placed the bowl onto the coffee table. We needed to get rid of the thing and find Miss Puss a scratching post, because the scratch marks were obvious, and the landlord had picked up on us having a cat as soon as he saw them.
“Darling,” she said, approaching me and placing both hands on my cheeks. “You don’t have to be worried about me. Go have fun with your cat, and I’ll have fun with my little cat. We’ll both be happy.”
I made a face and pulled away from her. “Ugh, that’s way too much information. We’re still talking when I get home. Will you lend me your car keys?”
“Sure. Have a good long night with Miss Puss.”
My face heated up, but I had confidence the bronzer I wore would cover it well. The way she emphasized Miss Puss, she didn’t believe me for a minute that I was really going to visit my cat. It wasn’t as if I was lying. I was just going to kill two birds with the one stone.
My excitement mounted the closer I got to East Union Street, and by the time I turned left onto Ninety-Second Ave NE, I could barely breathe for my heart racing in my chest. Since kissing Lucas seven nights ago, we hadn’t touched like that again, but I counted every minute spent with him intimately.
He was sometimes grouchy, but having lost his dream job, I understood his frustration and didn’t take it personally. I hoped I could cheer him up a little tonight, and as much as I didn’t want to hope for too much, I’d prepped my body in the event things happened. I kept turning the kiss over and over in my head, reliving the way he had taken my cheeks in both hands, kneading them. I couldn’t help thinking I had wasted the opportunity to get laid.
Maybe the sad truth was that I didn’t know what I was doing at all.
I pulled the car into his driveaway, marveling at the decent stretch of property that overlooked the lake in the short distance. While far from extravagant, his house was testament to the kind of life he lived. If I was less confident about myself, I’d have been intimidated by our socioeconomic background, but if he was to be believed, his was questionable right now.
He must have heard the car because the front door opened, and he stepped out of the house, leaving the front door open. It was some minutes after eight, and the setting sun cast a kaleidoscope of soft red, yellow, and orange splotches across the sky like an artist working on his best day. To see him in the backdrop of all that reminded me of the feels I had for this man.
And the embarrassing climax. Thankfully he hadn’t mentioned it, or I might have had to be on the next expedition to the moon just to put maximum distance between us. Anywhere on earth would just be too damn close.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to show this evening,” he remarked when I came out of the car. I was pleased to find him smiling instead of the scowls he was in the habit of wearing lately.
“I had some stuff to do right after work,” I answered, approaching him. “Got my first paycheck and decided I should take you out to dinner.”
“Jason—”
“To say thanks for minding Miss Puss for me,” I rushed to add, because if he got a whiff that this was a date, he would turn me down. My first date with the man and he wouldn’t even know it.
When I was next to him, I reached up and kissed his cheek. There, that was chaste enough. I ignored his sigh as I walked by him into the hall, but he followed me back inside the house.
“Where’s Miss Puss?” I asked before calling, “Here, kitty, kitty.”
“Last time I checked, she was lying on top of the mantle,” he told me.
Miss Puss was exactly where he’d indicated. She raised her head and barely blinked at me before burrowing back down with her paws covering her face like she didn’t want me to see her.
“Ouch, that kind of hurt,” I remarked. “Did you see that? She completely ignored me. What have you been doing to my cat, mister?”
He shrugged. “Damned if I know. She’s a tough one to please.”
I grinned up at him. “You know who’s easy to please?”
To my surprise, he smiled right back. “Yeah, I remember.”
Horrible man had to bring up my “accident” just when I had gotten comfortable in thinking he would never mention it. I covered my face with my hands and peeked out at him through the fingers.
“You keep that up and I won’t take you to dinner.”
“Actually, I’m already full,” he answered, patting his tummy through his shirt. “Miss Puss and I visited my stepmom, and she cooked us a feast.”
I let my hands fall to my sides, hoping the disappointment wasn’t showing on my face. Damn, he’d just canceled our date he wasn’t supposed to know we were on. I couldn’t decide how to un-cancel it.
“You don’t even have room for dessert?”
“No, but I brought home leftovers I can warm up for you.”
Leftovers with Lucas and not having to spend a dime? This was so my idea of the perfectly expense-free date.
“If she cooks anything like you then sure.”
“Good. Come on. Miss Puss has had enough people for the day.”
I followed him into the kitchen, staying a safe distance behind so I could admire his broad back tapering down to his gorgeous butt. I glanced at my glittery nails. Would he like it if I raked them down his back while he made love to me? I wouldn’t mind breaking a nail or two on his back.
“Oh no you don’t,” I protested at the stirring of my cock. “You behave right now.”
“What?” Lucas asked, turning to me from his position at the fridge.
“Nothing,” I quipped, climbing up onto a high stool around the island. His kitchen was big and spacious unlike the one in our apartment. I couldn’t even boil water in that thing without hitting something.
He asked about my job as he heated up whatever his stepmother gave him that smelled so divine. My mouth was watering by the time he served me a plate.
“Holy Moses, what am I eat
ing?” I asked, poking around the yellow pods on my plate.
“It’s one of my favorites,” he replied, taking a baking tin from the oven which he set on top of the counter. “Ackee and corned pork with seasoned rice. You’ll love it.”
“If I die, you’re not allowed to marry anyone else for…the rest of your life,” I said, ignoring his laugh as I forked some rice and the yellow things into my mouth. I chewed slowly, allowing myself to get accustomed to the unusual flavor, but I really didn’t need to at all. “Fuck, this is good.”
“Told you so,” he answered. “I learned everything about Jamaican food from her. The best thing is that the culture is so diverse it has a little bit of everything—Indian and even Chinese food.”
“Wow, you’re really into this ethnic food, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I grew up eating because of my stepmom. Now eat up. When you’re done, you can have a slice of my attempt at a corn pudding and tell me what you think.”
***
“Think you have space for the pudding now?” Lucas asked me about an hour later as I sat in the corner of his couch catching up on the episodes of Real Housewives of Atlanta. I’d finished the main course almost half an hour ago after having asked for an extra serving. In retrospect I should have skipped the extra. I ended up feeling like Bruce after the chocolate cake in Matilda. Fit to burst.
“Sure, I love pudding,” I replied, turning down the volume of the television. Miss Puss swished her tail where she was sitting beside me on the couch.
“It may not be pudding as you know it, but it’s quite good.”
“I’ll believe anything you say is quite good.”
He placed a tray on my lap which held a saucer with a thin slice of his version of corn pudding and a small cup of steaming dark liquid. I glanced at him to find him watching me expectantly. He’d been in the kitchen since I arrived, even after I retired to the living room. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that his cooking kept him going. He liked having me around to cook for. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for him not working at the restaurant.
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