The Affair: Cristiana's Story

by Aidèe Jaimes

  “You too.” I drive away, all the while glancing in the rearview mirror in hopes of seeing Cris just one more time.

  41

  “Purple.”

  “Not purple, Dan. Lilac.”

  “It’s purple, I tell you. Call it what you will—violet, lavender. It’s damned purple! Bo, talk some sense into your mother. A man can’t live with a purple bathroom.”

  My mother’s eyes move to me as she taps her long red nails on the granite bar top, daring me to challenge her authority over the house. Not having expected to be a part of this decision, I take a large bite of my po’ boy. “Fif whavever.”

  “What? Speak up, son!” My stepfather puts his hand to his ear, trying to understand what I’m saying.

  “Boey, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  Laughing, I take another bite, and say, “Af you wif.”

  My mother scoffs when she realizes I’m not going to side with either of them. “We’ll paint that bathroom lilac, and Bo will do it for us.”

  Dan grumbles as he takes a bite of his own sub. He knows better than to fight it. It’s nothing but a waste of energy. A battle he can’t win.

  Finally swallowing, I say, “Why not paint that bathroom purple—”

  “It’s not purple!” my mother interrupts, breaking off a piece of her French bread and feeding it to “Puggy the Beggar,” as I like to call the ball of fur.

  I continue, “Then Dan can paint the man cave any color he wants.”

  “Man cave?” he asks, as if the thought hasn’t occurred to him.

  “You have three bedrooms, a den, and two living rooms. Who the hell needs two living rooms?” I ask.

  “One’s for fancy company, and the other is for family,” Mom replies.

  “So you could give Dan the extra one.”

  “Well…I meant to use it as a sewing room.”

  “A sewing room? Woman! This house is filled to the brim with female things. Give me one damned room!” he demands.

  “All right, Dan. Fine. Take a room. But I want free rein over the rest of the house.”

  Dan waves his hand in the air, giving in. “Have whatever you want. But that room at the front”—he points toward it—“that’s all mine.”

  My mother rubs her palms together with glee. “I already know exactly where the Christmas tree is going to go.”

  “Momma, that’s almost a year away,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I’ll ask the girls to help me decorate.”

  “The girls?” I ask, looking down at the dog, who’s just placed her paws on my lap and is staring at my food like she’s starved.

  “Cris and Jessica. They live down the street.”

  At the mention of Cris’s name, I nearly choke on my bite. I haven’t seen her since the other day. At least, not with my eyes. Now, my mind is a whole other matter. She’s there. Constantly. “Right. I met them briefly.”

  “They’re nice girls.”

  “Oh? Have they come to visit?” I ask.

  “Yes. They’ve been here a few times.”

  “Um…” I’m not sure how to ask what I’m dying to know. “I only spoke with them for a minute. What do they do?”

  “Well, I believe Jessica is in school for some sort of business management. Cristiana stays at home with her—”

  “So that’s her name. Cristiana,” I say it aloud, wanting to feel the way it slides across my tongue. When I glance back at my mother, she’s watching me intently. “What?” I ask innocently.

  “Bo, I see somethin’ and I don’t like it one bit.”

  Sighing, I wipe the corners of my mouth and pet Puggy. “What do you see, Momma?”

  “Interest.”

  “Would that be a bad thing?”

  Dan turns on the television from his seat at the table and ignores our conversation.

  My mother rolls her eyes at him. This is the battle she can’t win.

  “Cher, Cristiana is a married woman,” she informs me.

  “I didn’t say anything about her.”

  “You didn’t have to. The way you said her name had enough meaning that there was no mistakin’ what you want.”

  I rest my chin in my hand, the possibilities churning in my mind. She’s got a small child who can’t be more than three, so hearing that she’s married is certainly no surprise. But I don’t want her to be. From the moment I met her, I’ve known that can’t be all there is to it. Everything inside me says that wasn’t the end. I’m not meant to look from the outside in, watching her happiness from afar. My gut tells me I’m meant to be a part of it.

  “Is she happily married?”

  “Bo Rougier!” My mother throws her napkin onto her plate. “Now you listen to me good, boy. I didn’t teach you to be a homewrecker.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Get that woman out of your mind once and for all. She’s happily married with a child. A family.”

  “But what if she isn’t? What if she’s been waitin’ for me?”

  “Bo. Son.” She stops, looking to the heavens, praying for patience, I suppose. “You surprise me. This isn’t you.”

  “I’m just sayin’ that maybe she’s not supposed to be with this guy. Momma, when I saw her, I felt somethin’. I can’t explain it, but I’ve never felt it before. And you didn’t teach me to be a homewrecker, but you did teach me to go after what I want.”

  “I don’t care, Boey. Not her and not where I live. You’re a good man. Handsome. There are plenty of women out there who are dyin’ to be with you. Plenty of free women.”

  Setting down my napkin too, I sigh. “All right, Momma.”

  “You’re going to let it go?”

  “No.”

  “Bo! Do you really want to bring trouble to my doorstep? Because goin’ after her will do exactly that. We just moved here. I’m not ready to move again.”

  Finally listening to what she’s saying, I snap out of this crazy, persistent mindset where all I can think about is Cris and making her mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I told you that I felt somethin’ for her. Guess it’s clouding my ability to think straight.”

  “Promise me you’ll stay away.”

  “I promise…” I trail off because I’d hate to lie. Instead, I say, “I won’t actively pursue her. But, Momma, if fate plays its hand and puts the chance in front of me, I’m taking it.”

  “Then for all our sakes, let’s hope fate keeps her nose where it belongs.”

  After lunch, Dan heads upstairs to the room he’s claimed as his. There’s no furniture, but he doesn’t care. It’s his, and all is good.

  My mother asks me to stow away some of the heavy boxes to go through much later, if ever, and I start putting them in the guest room closet. When I glance out the window, I notice that I have an unobstructed view of Cris’s home.

  She’s there.

  The garage door is open and she’s sitting on the driveway with her daughter. By the looks of it, they’re drawing with sidewalk chalk. Probably taking advantage of the mild weather while it’s warm enough to be outside and enjoy the sunshine.

  My mind races with infinite excuses to go over there. I could say, “Hey, my mother needs a cup of sugar,” or “Could we borrow a ladder? We haven’t unpacked ours yet.”

  But what I’d really like to say is, “I just came over to see if you’re as beautiful as I remember, because the image of you haunts me all day long.”

  How any woman could have invaded my mind this way after only a few minutes in her presence is beyond me. It bothers me to the point where I’d like to prove it’s a fluke, that I’m imagining her effect on me.

  “What’re you doin’, sugar?”

  The sound of my mother’s voice has me snatching my hand back from the blinds. I turn to her, flashing her a smile that I hope will blind her to my actions. It doesn’t.

  “Don’t think that charmin’ grin will keep me from seeing what I saw.”

  “What about this one?” I ask, lifting only one side of my
mouth.

  Laughing, she smacks my arm, her hoop bracelets clanking. She walks to the window and peeks out, then shakes her head and says, “She’s not for you, Bo.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “It’s all over your face.”

  “Momma, why don’t you invite her over one of these days? Maybe then I can see for myself that she’s not for me,” I suggest.

  “Because I already know she’s not for you. I’d be beggin’ for disaster.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “She loves her husband, Bo.”

  “Okay, maybe you’re right.” I say the words she taught me, the ones she says end an argument every time without anyone really giving in.

  She huffs, fully aware of what I’m doing, and leaves.

  Opening the blinds again, I stare out at Cris. Coveting another man’s wife. My mom’s right. This isn’t who I am. I don’t like it any more than she does.

  I’m not a homewrecker. I’ve never even looked at a married woman. Would have been offended should anyone suggest it. Yet I can’t help that pull I feel when I see Cris. That desire to be near her. Even from this distance, I feel it. It’s not normal. What it is, is painful.

  Just come over here. I will her to come to me if I can’t go to her.

  As if she hears me, her eyes snap up. I watch her intently, wondering if the pull is there for her too.

  She stands, collecting the toys and chalk. Then with one last glance in my direction, she heads inside, closing the garage door behind her.

  Yes, this is very painful, I think as I walk away from the window.

  42

  I’ve been calling these people since seven a.m., and neither one has bothered to respond. Now, it’s not anything new for them to lose their phones. But as the day drags on and there’s still no answer, I begin to imagine my parents lying on the floor, having fallen down the stairs.

  “Hey, man, you got this? I gotta go do somethin’,” I tell my project overseer, Noah.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  I leave work, my heart halfway up my throat, and dial my parents once again. And once again, no answer.

  When I arrive at their house in Charlotte, I nearly jump out of the truck before it’s fully parked. I raise my hand to pound on their door but pause when the sound of a child’s laughter reaches me.

  Unless my kids were here, there’d be no reason for the high-pitched squeals to be coming from inside. Except…

  There are only two possibilities. Either Jessica’s here with her kids. Or Cristiana is. My breathing all but stops at the realization.

  I have a fifty percent chance of finally satisfying my curiosity, my need to see if Cristiana’s effect on me was exaggerated, or if, in fact, the all-consuming attraction is justified.

  The excitement of knowing once and for all has me pressing the doorbell hard.

  Ding.

  From inside, I hear my mother, loud and clear. “I wonder who that could be.” A few moments later, the door opens. “Well, mah Lord, Boey! What’n the world are you doin’ here?”

  She tries to prevent me from looking into the house toward the noise coming from the living room, but her five-foot frame allows me to see over her head easily.

  My eyes still focused beyond her, I say, “Hi, Momma. Neither of you answered your phone all day and I got worried.”

  “Oh, Boey, I’m sorry. Now what did I do with that durn thing. Dan, you seen my phone?” she yells out, even though he’s standing beside her.

  “It’s all right, Momma. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay, well, I’m sorry, darlin’. But at least you get to meet the girls.” She scrunches her nose at me, a movement I catch from the corner of my eye before she reaches out to pinch my forearm. “Behave,” she mouths, turning and going into the main room. “Girls, Jess, Cris, this is my son, Bo.”

  I see Cris on the floor in the midst of a strange battle of wills with her daughter as she tries to get up.

  I walk directly to the object of my obsession and stop right behind her. No point in beating around the bush. Her little girl sees me first, letting go of her mother’s shirt and hiding between her legs. Cris finally stands awkwardly. She turns her head to me, then her eyes slowly travel up my chest and to my face. Her breathing hitches as her honeyed gaze meets mine.

  It pleases me to no end to know that she’s as sexy as I remembered. Exactly as I remembered. It pleases me more to know that I have an effect on her too.

  “It’s nice to officially meet you, Cris,” I say, stretching my hand to her.

  She looks at it before giving me her much smaller one to shake. The warmth of her skin nearly burns me, but I don’t let it go. I want to feel it.

  “I’m sorry?” she asks distractedly, as if she didn’t hear me.

  “I met Jess. But I think you left before I got your name.”

  “Cris,” she says, even though I just called her that.

  “So you girls have been keeping my mom pretty busy, huh? I can’t tell you how glad I am that she has you all. She’s moved onto the perfect street.”

  She nods, averting her eyes. I’ve played this scene in my head over and over again, imagining what I’d say if I had the chance to talk to her. In my mind, she flirted, but seeing her search for an exit is almost as fun. I like that I make her feel nervous. She makes me feel that and so many other things I can’t put into words. Heat, desire, excitement. A need to make her mine and mine alone.

  “Well, come on, girls. Let’s chat while the cornbread bakes.” Momma settles into a chair in one of the living rooms, the not-so-fancy-so-it’s-okay-to-sit one that’s not going to be turned into Dan’s man cave.

  I take a seat beside her, figuring Cris will go to the couch.

  The girls follow us in. Their kids find a spot in the corner to play, but to my disappointment, only Jess plants herself on the couch next to Dan, who’s sleeping. Instead of sitting across from me, Cris pulls up a chair behind us.

  As Dan snores away the afternoon, my mother goes on and on about something, but I have no idea what. All I’m aware of is that she’s behind me, and the fact that I can’t see her is completely unacceptable.

  I don’t get the idea Cris is normally this anti-social. Not according to my mom, anyway. And the brief glances her friend keeps giving her say a lot about the strangeness of the situation. So I decide that I’m the one who’s going to have to do something about it.

  If I’m making her squirm, I want to be able to see it.

  I stand without a word and walk between my mother and Jessica, moving to a wingback chair that’s set at an angle. Incredulity written all over her face, Cris watches me as I sit in it, facing her. Her cheeks redden and she quickly looks away.

  But I keep my eyes on her and take her in, every bit of her. The messy hair that makes me think of rumpled sheets, the full lips that beg to be bitten. The way the tops of her breasts swell over the neck of her spaghetti strap shirt. I don’t think she meant to look so damn sexy that I’d want to devour her. But she does.

  She chews on that plump lower lip and I nearly groan because it should be my teeth nipping at the skin there. They’d travel over her mouth and to her chin, then I’d gather that messy hair back and expose her throat to me. I’d bite her there too as my hands snuck under her skirt and pulled down her panties. My fingers would find the wetness between her legs and—

  “Bo, where are you?” my mother interrupts my wet daydream, waving her hand in front of my face.

  Cris’s eyes snap to mine, and she visibly swallows. “Excuse me, I’m gonna check on the kids,” she says and moves away.

  “Sorry, Momma, what was that?” I shift my attention to her, but my eyes remain glued to Cris.

  “Never mind,” she tells me, and I don’t follow the remainder of the conversation, not that I’d been a participant in any of it. Lunch is much the same, with Cris avoiding me at every turn, which only serves to encourage me more.

  I’m disappo
inted when it’s over, not having had a real chance to talk to her. To connect in some way. I follow her, Jess, and the kids to the door as we all make to leave, my mother trailing close behind us.

  “Oh, wait! I didn’t pack any cornbread for you girls to take home. And I’ll get some for you too, Boey.” My mom heads toward the kitchen.

  Jess turns to walk back with her, stopping Cris when she begins to follow. “You get the kids; I’ll get the cornbread. Sorry!” Then Jess lets out a small laugh.

  We stand in the foyer, and Cris pretends not to be affected by me, but I know she can feel me as much as I can her. The atmosphere is practically vibrating with electricity, particles dancing off my skin at her proximity. She’s so damned close that I could reach out and touch her. And something tells me she’d let me.

  As she inspects the pictures on the buffet table, many of which I’m in, I think, Turn. Turn and look at the real me. But she doesn’t. Not right away. Instead, her breathing pattern changes, telling me she’s consciously controlling it. Or trying to, at least.

  Then when it all but stops, she looks up. Her eyes lock with mine, daring me to glance away. I don’t. I want her to know there’s no mistake about what I want. Her.

  My lips pull up and I grin because in her face, I read the truth. She wants me too.

  As if she’s seen the devil in my eyes, she takes the kids by the hand and bursts through the front door, leaving me to stare after her.

  “Where’d Cris go?” Jess asks as she approaches me.

  “Something must have scared her off,” I tell her.

  “Hmm,” she responds with a knowing look on her face. “Well, guess I better go too. Thank you, Mrs. Jensen, for an amazing lunch.”

  “All right, sugar. We’ll see you later.”

  The moment Jess leaves, I turn to my mother. “I’ve also gotta go. Thanks for— Ouch! What was that for?” I ask, rubbing the sore spot on my arm from where she’s pinched me.

  “I warned you about this obsession you have with that girl. What are you playin’ at, Bo?”

  “It was innocent flirting.”

  “Innocent? Bourbon Street is more innocent than those looks you were givin’ each other.”