Crave: A BWWM Romance

by Sadie Black

  “Been making fun of me have you?” She lifted my chin with her fingers, the way mothers do.

  “Not me. Kaila.”

  “Thanks sis,” we could hear from the farther room.

  “That’s what you get for wasting time,” I called back.

  “Whatever. Laugh all you want. I’m moving in with the man I love. You can’t bring me down today.”

  I glanced up to apologize and caught the smile playing on her lips. It was such a perfect, small smile. Her face was like the Mona Lisa, happy with a secret, happy but not caring who knows, not showing it off, just experiencing it. Her happiness wasn’t the kind of happiness I recalled from late nights out with Sonia or exchanging quips with Kaila. It wasn’t even the kind of happiness I recalled from the other night when Cole had me bent over a counter. It was the kind of happiness that lasts, a contentment, a profound joy. Suddenly, I was incredibly jealous of my Mom’s happiness. I couldn’t judge her. I wasn’t even in the same league as her when it came to living life.

  There was a knock at the door. The moving truck was here early. Shit. I put down the glass I was holding and firmly instructed my mother to finish the packing while I made my way to the door. All the while, I was preparing a speech about how rude it was to be too early. Didn’t these guys work on a timetable? I was all ready to begin scolding when I opened the door to my mother’s condo and saw Cole Saunders standing on the other side.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out. I immediately felt the heat of embarrassment wash over me for having been so blatantly rude.

  “What am I doing here? I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” Cole paused, checked the apartment number, checked a pad in his pocket, and turned back to me. “Do you live here?”

  “No. My mother does. Look, I don’t know what is happening here, but it can wait until tomorrow. My Mom is moving today and we’re expecting the truck any minute.” I made a show of glancing over his shoulder, as if the moving truck might be waiting behind him, and he was blocking it with his big, annoying body.

  Cole chuckled and rested one hand on the frame. Leaning over me like a greaser from the fifties might lean over a lollipop chick in a poodle skirt. I was acutely aware of his presence. All of the feelings of Friday night came back in waves as I locked eyes with him. Even the low down feelings. I squirmed a little, embarrassed by the idea that he might guess what I was thinking.

  “Sweetheart, I am the movers.”

  “Oh.” I scanned him for evidence of this. He wasn’t wearing a moving uniform. He was dressed the same way he dressed to work on the restaurant, faded jeans and a t-shirt. “You’re not wearing a uniform…and hey. You told me you couldn’t work today because your Dad was sick! Using your Dad as an excuse so you can sneak a second job as a mover is beyond pathetic. Why do you need this job anyway? You charge me an arm and a leg.”

  I broke off at the sight of his grin. I wanted to smack it…then kiss it. I wanted to pull at the tendrils of hair that were falling in front of his eyes, twirl them around my fingers, and drag him in close.

  “You done?” He asked, breaking the spell. “I don’t work for the movers. I’m here for my Dad.”

  As if on cue, an older gentleman in similar attire as his son, walked up to the door with a wide smile and an open hand. He introduced himself as Francis Saunders. I shook his hand numbly, slowly assembling the mystery that lay before me.

  “And this is my son, Cole Saunders.” He added.

  “How do you do?” Cole reached out a hand to me.

  I shook it automatically. I was in shock. When you’re in shock and are incapable of processing things, you shake the hands that are offered without giving them much thought. As I started to return to myself, I could see the amusement on Cole’s face that I had actually shaken his hand. In fact, he seemed generally amused by the entire situation. I felt angry that he wasn’t as bewildered as I was.

  Cole and his father moved past me into the condo. Cole offered a light slap on the bottom has he went. I was too overwhelmed to be angry. I heard many voices in the distance as I settled against the door frame. As if through a fog, I could hear Francis introducing Cole around. I could hear my mother apologizing that the packing wasn’t finished yet and Cole offering to take care of it for her. I could hear the blood in my ears, pounding away from frustration and anxiety. Cole's smirk filled me with rage as I realized that my plan of putting him behind me was officially screwed.

  “Well. Well. Well, Kaila’s shit-eating grin was the last thing I wanted to see. “Looks like our newest family member is your dreamy contractor.”

  “Please Kaila. Just don’t. Not now. And he's not family. Mom is only living with this guy, we both know how that's going to end.”

  “Jeeze, what’s crawled up your butt? He’s not that bad a guy. I think Mom is really happy.”

  “I’m begging you to stop.”

  “Well OK. What’s up anyway?”

  “Nothing. I just, I’m tired and I want to get this day over with.”

  Still leaning in the doorway, I gazed across the condo. Boxes were piled in one corner of the living room; furniture was disassembled and stacked as neatly as could be expected. The rest of the place was bare and filthy. It would need a vacuum when we were done.

  There was something a little sad about it. A memory of my Mom and I drinking wine and watching the Academy Awards washed over me. Kaila would pop in and out to lament whom ever had just won. She never liked the winners.

  I remembered us sitting at the bar that connected the living room and the kitchen. We conducted culinary experiments. Often, it involved my mom challenging me to make a meal in 30 minutes that made something bland like cream of wheat or mashed asparagus taste good. I wondered if we would do any of these things in the new place.

  And if we did, would Cole be there? Looming? A constant threat to my happiness?

  10

  COLE

  I did my best to be as helpful as possible. Partly because I’m a helpful guy. Partly because I could tell that the more Moneka’s mother seemed to like me, the more irritated Moneka became. I liked watching her prickle up and stalk around the condo, looking for evidence that I might be slacking off. It was endearing in an irritating sort of way.

  The condo was a decent looking place. I couldn’t help but think that I could have done wonders with it if given the chance. Still, it stood its ground. I could tell Moneka’s Mom was having a hard time letting go. If there was nothing else likable about her, that would be enough.

  I enjoyed the thought that people could become attached to places. It made me feel that what I did had value beyond simply creating a structure that won’t fall down. I liked the idea that I was giving people something special. That’s what Moneka would never understand about her restaurant and me. If I ever pushed back on her, and I did ad nauseam, it was only because I wanted the best for it and I knew how to accomplish that. It’s not like I thought of myself as an artist or anything. That would be too pretentious for me. I preferred to imagine people’s lives as the art. Their memories are the paint on a canvas. What I do is build the best damn canvas you’re likely to find in Boston.

  As I helped Kaila and my Dad assess the furniture situation and decide which of the pieces we should load up first, I eyed Moneka rushing in and out of the condo with boxes. There were those hips again, swaying rhythmically to her anger. At one point, I thought she caught me eyeing her. She just kept moving, voiceless. The only other time I’d seen her this short of speech, she was wrapped around me, her diamond nipples exposed, her head tilted back in an expression of ecstasy. Thinking about that night made me smile. I wanted to do it again. And again. I’d do anything to feel myself inside of her. I knew that somewhere inside she wanted it too, no matter how badly she wanted me to think otherwise.

  Kaila indicated the couch and we got started. The two of us struggled through the door and down the stairs. My Dad acted as conductor, which mostly means he said “careful” a lot and pointed m
anically in ways that were less than helpful. Eventually, we’d made it to the truck. Moneka and her mother had been piling boxes nearby. Kaila and I loaded the couch in first and strapped it down with bungee chords. It was not a big truck; with the couch in there, there wasn’t much room for other pieces of large furniture. We managed to squeeze her dresser in nearby and loaded the rest of the space up with boxes from the sidewalk.

  “One down.” Louise sighed as she gazed into the back of the truck.

  “About a billion to go,” my Dad added. “Cole you rented the smallest truck on the market.”

  “It’s not the smallest truck.” I felt a little defensive after agreeing to help at all. “It’s the best price per square footage. Besides, I’m the one driving it. What do you care?”

  “Touché.” My Dad threw his hands up and turned back to the condo. “Well, two of you should go and unpack the truck at the other end. The rest of us will stay and get furniture and boxes ready for another round.”

  “Kaila why don’t you go with Cole?” Louise turned to her daughter who was doing light stretches against the curb.

  “Sorry Mom. I’m going to have to bail. I’ve got a hot date in an hour and half and I smell like a sweaty old lady.” Kaila dug her nose into her armpit and took a whiff, obviously hoping to drive home exactly how sweaty she was.

  “What? I have a restaurant opening in a week and I’m here, she’s got a ‘hot date’ and she gets to bail?” Moneka stared incredulously at her mother.

  I felt bad for Louise at this point. Her kids were giving her such a hard time. I was reminded of the hard time I'd been giving my father up to this point and made a mental note to apologize.

  “Hey, sorry Moneka. I couldn’t reschedule this one. If you knew what he looked like, you’d understand.”

  Moneka smiled a little at her sister. “Fine. But he better be really good looking. You’re making a lot more work for the rest of us.”

  “I think you’ll manage.” I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw her wink in my direction. She was still at it; Moneka must not have told her that we sealed the deal.

  “In that case, Moneka can go with Cole to unload the truck and Francis and I can get another load ready. There’s still a tiny bit of kitchen packing left too.” Louise sounded settled on the plan. She didn’t notice the dawning horror on her daughter’s face. I did though, and it made me laugh inside. Moneka Hart. What a piece of work.

  “Alright,” Moneka said with as little enthusiasm as possible.

  After we had gotten the back down and latched, Moneka and I climbed into the truck and started heading toward my Dad’s place on the North Shore. The drive was not going to be too unreasonable. It would be 40 minutes tops, depending on traffic. However, it was long enough, I’m sure, to make Moneka feel like she was dying a slow death. As we pulled away from the condo and started making our way to the highway, I glanced over at her. Her expression was icy. I’ve heard expressions be referred to as icy in the past, but never really understood the term until this moment. She radiated a coldness that almost burned and I felt that, if I reached out and touched the sharp corners of her face, they’d cut me.

  “So, how was your weekend?” I decided to try civility and see if I could melt some of that ice.

  “It was terrific. I found out my mother is moving in with a total stranger.” Her eyes remained trained on the road.

  “You know, I get it. I really do. I mean, when my Dad said he went to Vegas and got met someone, I thought I was going to lose it. But, Louise seems really nice.”

  “She is nice. She’s a wonderful person and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  “Well, my Dad’s nice too.”

  There was a silence so awkward I thought we might implode under the weight of it.

  “I mean. I know it’s fast, but they could be happy,” I persevered.

  “Yeah. I guess.” I thought I could feel a little of her thaw. Her shoulders relaxed very slightly. It was like trying to melt a polar ice cap with a regular sized heat lamp. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “This has just been a very weird weekend.”

  “Ha. Tell me about it. It wasn’t all bad though was it?” I stole another glance, hoping to catch a smile. I thought I maybe saw a microscopic one.

  “No. Not all bad.” She turned toward me. “Look Cole. I’m sorry I was so hot and cold with you. It’s just been a crazy couple of days, you know? It was fun. But now, more than ever, it can never happen again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have a professional relationship. And now, we also have a personal family-ish relationship. It’s just too messy.”

  “Hmmm.” I smiled over at her and winked. “I do recall it being kind of messy.”

  “Stop it Cole.”

  “Why? I’m not finished. And from the way you were responding to me on Saturday morning, I don’t think you’re finished either.”

  “Well think again. Because I am. It was a good night. Don’t ruin it by acting like…”

  “Like what?”

  “Like yourself.”

  “Ouch.” I clutched my chest with one hand. “You hit me right where it hurt.”

  Another silence followed. I tried to get a read on her presence as I continued trundling down the road. I knew she wanted me. I knew she liked it. Why was she fighting this so hard?

  “We’ll make this quick.” Moneka spoke as we pulled onto my Dad’s street. “I’ll get out and help you park the truck, we’ll get the stuff out and into the house, then we’ll head straight back.”

  “Right,” I said, “You’ll help me park the truck, we’ll get the stuff out and into the house, we’ll have a quickie in my old bedroom, then we’ll…”

  “Goddamnit Cole! I need you to stop. I really do. You know what? I take back what I said. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t a good night. It was a big fat mistake that I never should have made. If there was ever a prayer of it happening, there certainly isn’t now.”

  “Alright. I’m sorry.”

  My Dad’s street was Rockwellian if the people in those classic Rockwell’s paintings had about five times more money. Lightly wooded and with plenty of space between the houses, it made for a quiet spot. My Dad’s driveway made a loop in front of the house, so there was no need for Moneka to get out and direct. I pulled the truck up to get as close to the front door as possible. As I was putting it in park, I noticed Moneka eyeing the house through the windshield.

  It was an admittedly impressive structure. A classically over-sized colonial, it stood two stories high in the center with one-story offshoots on either side. It was long, five windows across in the center and two windows across on the offshoots. Three small windows peeked out of the sloping roof in the middle, indicating a third story hidden somewhere inside. A balcony hung over the front, kept aloft by Greek pillars. I loved this house. I grew up here. When I took the time to imagine it, I imagined it with hydrangeas and roses lining the front walk and peeking up under the bottom story windows. I remembered a birdbath that my mother had insisted on installing near the oak tree to the left. These days, the birdbath was dry and the flowers had long sense been moved. To Dad’s credit, he kept a well-manicured lawn and took care to keep the creeping vines away from the façade.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said, opening the passenger door. I could sense her hesitate for a moment, wanting to gawk at the house a little bit longer.

  “Fine,” I replied.

  We both moved quickly to the back. I helped her open it and then went to unlock the front door. Moneka grabbed a box and followed. The two of us continued to work like this, piling boxes in the bottom rooms of the house, unearthing the furniture in the back of the truck. Moneka’s prickly demeanor had returned. She huffed every time I accidentally got in her way. Her every movement was angry and impatient. I was sorry that I’d pushed her, but this was starting to get ridiculous. We were going to be seeing a lot more of each other whether we liked it or not, with our parents living together. />
  “What is with you?” I finally asked after she rolled her eyes at my holding the door open for her.

  “What do you mean what is with me?” Moneka said as she passed, continuing her furious pace toward the truck.

  I followed. “I mean, why are you acting like this? I said I was sorry and I said I would stop. What more do you want from me?”

  Moneka kept moving into the truck, piling boxes to one side as she tried to get to the lager ones on the bottom. “I’m acting like this because I have to be around someone who pretends he’s a gentleman and acts like a pig.”

  “Fine! Then I’m not sorry about the jokes. I meant every single one.” I followed her into the truck, standing between her and the exit.

  Moneka stopped what she was doing. She turned and glared at me. “Of course you did. You’ve wanted me ever since I hired you. You’ve been obsessing over me. It’s pathetic.”

  “Oh? And you haven’t wanted me at all? Was that some other women telling me to fuck her last Friday night?”

  “Yes!” She shouted. “And she’s gone now. Thank God!”

  No she wasn’t. She was standing right here in front of me. I hated her stupid denial, her lame attempts to revise history. How dare she stand there and call me pathetic when she wanted it just as badly as I did. “Oh yeah? Well that Cole Saunders is gone too!” I shouted back, ushering in a deafening silence.

  “Really.” Her face was a combination of skepticism and scorn. “You don’t want me at all?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “Good. Cause you disgust me!”

  “You disgust me too!”

  I took a step forward for emphasis and suddenly became acutely aware of her proximity to me. I could reach out and touch her. I wanted to. No matter what I shouted at her, all I wanted was to grab her and pull her in, making our bodies one.

  “Then you can get out of my way! I want to get this over with.”

  “I could.” I took another step closer. Soon I was looming over her, feeling her energy floating off her caramel skin in waves.