What the Heart Wants

by Tiana Laveen

  “I need this.” She laughed lightly as she took a sip and set her glass down. He looked at the red lipstick stain around the rim she’d deposited from her kiss.

  “I’m just having this one.” He chuckled. “No more self-medicating, stuffing down my feelings with booze. I sound like someone from an AA meeting. I’m not an alcoholic, but these past couple of months, it seemed as if I was auditioning for the role of the town drunk.” He kept his voice light, though he was serious. Emily nodded, a pretty smile on her face. She didn’t come across as judgmental at his statement; in fact, she seemed understanding. He studied her as she discussed her job. She was using big words and appeared to truly enjoy what she did for a living. As he continued to observe her, he realized that though he couldn’t take his eyes off her, she looked nothing like his Brookie. In fact, she was almost the complete opposite, though their body types were almost identical in height and shape, and their smiles bore similarities, too.

  I mean, I’m not checking her out or anything. She’s definitely not my type, even if I were. But, to keep it all the way one hundred, she’s kinda cute. Nice looking lady if somebody is into that whole Barbie doll look. I mean, White women aren’t my thing, especially a blonde, but she’s okay. Not bad. She’s got some nice legs, nice smile. She has a decent ass for a White woman. Smart obviously, with the type of job she has.

  An overwhelming sense of guilt crept within him. He lowered his head, feeling lower than low.

  I’m sorry, Brooke. I’m so fucking shitty. I swear I haven’t even looked at another woman in that way since you’ve been gone. I promise. I don’t know why my mind even went there.

  “I’m allowed to have an occasional glass of wine,” Emily stated, breaking into his thoughts. She lifted the glass. “Come on, this is cause for celebration.”

  “Oh, yeah. Let’s toast.” He grabbed his glass, thankful to be free from the remorse-driven deliberations, and clinked his glass against hers. “To life. To a new lease on life that is, second chances, new blessings, a new chapter, all right?”

  Emily’s smile faded.

  “What? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Just familiar. You said something familiar. Anyway.” She composed herself fast. “Cheers.”

  After they ordered their entrees, they engaged in small talk—nothing earth-shattering, nothing that gave him pause. In fact, it felt rather normal, as if he were just meeting up with an old friend. Regardless, there was a serious matter on the table, and someone had to address it.

  “I need to tell you that—”

  “Look.” He tossed down his napkin on the table, cutting her off. “We’ve been dancing around the elephant in the room. We have to discuss the real reason we’re here.”

  “I was going to say pretty much the same thing. It’s not every day you get a heart transplant and have dinner with your donor’s lover.” She burst out laughing, placed her glass down, and covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “Can’t argue with that. Ladies first.” He leaned back in his seat, giving her the floor.

  “Um, okay.” She cleared her throat. “On a scale of one to ten, how sensitive are you?”

  He twisted his lips and crossed his arms. “I uh…I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  “Can I be honest with you? That’s what I’m asking.”

  “Oh, hell yeah.” He shrugged and smirked. “No need to lie about shit. Seriously. Please do.”

  “Okay, well, I feel like I’m losing my mind and I feel like it’s being taken over by your deceased girlfriend.” She chuckled, but he could see she was far from amused. “She wanted to see you. I’ve figured that part out, so here I am.” She tossed up her hands. He simply sat there, looking at her, working out his thoughts. “I knew it. You think I’m crazy.” She crossed her arms, mirroring his stance.

  “You might be.” He shrugged. “You might not be. I have no idea how this works. I mean, it wasn’t like a brain transplant or anything. It was your heart. A heart shouldn’t be able to control a person that way. But something…Never mind.”

  “No, no, no. Come on, we’ve got to be honest with one another. Tell me.” She leaned forward, clearly interested.

  “You said when you were in front of my building that she makes you sing and dance. See, as you now know, Brooke was a singer. She also was a really good dancer, though she didn’t do it professionally or anything like that. Now uh…” He scratched his chin. “She told me one time that she always wanted to be able to sing and dance, no matter where she went, like, after life was over. She and I used to have real deep conversations like that.

  “We’d talk about souls, God, ghosts, life after death theories, religion, all types of stuff like that. We’d just lie in bed sometimes and discuss the universe, energy, this experience we call life. She told me that if reincarnation truly existed, then she prayed that she’d be able to sing and dance in her next lifetime, even if not professionally; she just wanted to be able to do it, couldn’t imagine that skill ever being gone forever. So, see, when you said that, you know, that she makes you sing and dance, it kinda messed me up.” He averted his gaze, needing a minute. Seconds passed in silence, but it felt like hours.

  “I have a confession. I don’t just sing, I sing well. This is a new development. I could not sing to save my life before the operation, Cameron. I can call any of my friends and ask them, let you hear them answer and explain that I sounded like a crow being choked when I’d attempt to do that. But now I can. It came out of nowhere.” He slowly met her gaze. “I also went and bought a shitload of albums from an old music store, music I’d never entertained before, and I hadn’t been to this record store, ever. It was a place out in Harlem. I rarely go to Harlem. It was like I was in some dream, only I was fully awake.”

  “Harlem? What was the store called, out of curiosity?”

  “Face the Music.”

  “Are you fuckin’ with me right now?”

  “I’m not. I promise you, this isn’t a joke.” His chest began to heave up and down. “Take a deep breath. Sip some of your water there before you hyperventilate,” she stated calmly. He did as she instructed and blinked back the emotions.

  “That used to be her favorite spot to get her albums. She even had a lifelong discount because she bought so much music from there. Our home was filled with albums from that place.” He reached for his wine and took a taste. “Let me hear you sing.”

  Emily’s eyes bucked. “No. Not right here in front of all these people. Besides, it’s too loud in here for you to hear me.”

  “Yeah, I want you to sing right here. Come on. Lean forward, across the table, and let me hear you sing.”

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Her perfectly shaped brown brows dipped.

  “No, I don’t. Prove to me that this is true, that this all really happened. You might be some psycho.”

  The thought hit him like a ton of bricks right then. Brooke knew a lot of damn people. She was a celebrity, after all. She’d just gotten invited to the BET Awards and was given accolades in several magazines. There were people who practically worshiped her, and he imagined, some wished they could’ve been in her shoes while she was rising to the top. For all he knew, this lady knew full well who Brooke was, regardless of her being the recipient of her heart. Maybe this was some sort of gimmick, a way to get money, chase a bag. She could have already called a bunch of tabloids trying to sell her story, saying a famous dead woman was now speaking through her. Some crazy shit like that.

  “What is going on here, Cameron? Do you even believe I have her heart? That I’m the recipient of her donation?” she asked, as if reading his mind.

  He sucked his teeth and took a swig of his water.

  “Yeah. I checked into it a few days after we met. I called her mother and asked her to contact the hospital and find out who’d received her heart since my request was denied because I wasn’t her husband or next of kin. My moth
er-in-law got back in touch with me. The name on your card matched and so did some other information they gave.”

  She nodded, though she seemed unnerved.

  “It looks like you’re upset about something. Did I cause this?” Her brow arched.

  “Yes and no. I’m upset about a lot of shit surrounding this, but most of it can’t be changed. One minute I’m happy that her heart is still beating inside of someone else, the next I’m not, I’m resentful. Look, just sing for me. Any line, from any song, I don’t care. Get up, lean into my ear, and sing. I need you to sing right now,” he said through gritted teeth.

  He had no idea what was driving him, but the desire to put this woman to the test, to find out if they were both out of their damn minds, needed to be figured out. She rose from her chair, coldness now in her blue eyes. She looked angry as hell as she tossed her napkin down onto the table, walked around it, and stood right before him, casting a shadow. She bent down and brought her mouth close to his ear.

  She began to croon “Get Up” by Amel Larrieux. He bowed his head and his lips curled as his eyes watered with fresh tears. He began to lightly beat the table, making music to this lily-white woman’s incredibly soulful voice. When she finished, she stood to her full height, a scowl on her face, and calmly returned to her seat. When their food was brought out, they began to eat, both taking sneak peeks at one another, but neither willing to speak for quite some time. He couldn’t help but notice that her plate was much like Brooke’s would’ve been—devoid of meat.

  “You a vegetarian?” he asked as he cut into his steak.

  “As of a month ago I am. The sight of red meat now sickens me. I tried to eat filet mignon, which was my absolute favorite, and threw up.” Her tone was terse, borderline hateful as she stabbed the sautéed carrots on her plate, the pretty things sprinkled with parsley. “Let me guess. She was a vegetarian or vegan.” She jammed the carrots into her mouth and glared at him.

  “A vegetarian. She ate eggs, butter, cheese. No chicken, beef, pork, or turkey though. I could count on one hand how many times I saw her eat fish.”

  “How did she feel about you eating steak?” Emily’s brow rose as she eyed his plate.

  “She didn’t care for it, but she let me be me, accepted me as such. I did eat much less of it though when I was with her. So uh, look, Emily.” He slammed his utensils down onto his plate and clasped his hands together, elbows on the table. “There are far too many coincidences going on here. Crazy shit. Out of all the record stores in Harlem, you found that one. You said something to me that Brooke told me when we were confiding in one another. Even the way you pronounce certain words sounds like her. Now, you’re a vegetarian and you can sing, and sing very well, too.

  “The cherry on top is that it’s the same damn song she would sing to me to make me wake up in the mornings to go take Opium out for a walk, when all I wanted to do was sleep in. I never told anyone she did that. I never repeated that song or sung it, either. That was something she did, something between the two of us. You’re killing me here, Emily.”

  He smiled as tears now streamed down his face. “Either you’re the best damn con artist in all of New York, or some really wild supernatural shit is going down. Some deep, spiritual, frighteningly beautiful shit. I was just getting to the point where I was healing, getting better, but now here she comes. Through you.” Emily’s eyes misted over and a tear streaked her face, too. “How do you feel about this, Emily? I mean really?”

  She reached across the table and grasped his hand, then held and squeezed it.

  “I’m scared and excited. I wish it wasn’t happening but at the same time, I accept that it is.”

  “You seemed like you were successful, had it not been for your heart condition, anyway. How was life for you before you had to have the surgery?”

  “I enjoyed my life before the surgery, but uh, things are not quite clear cut anymore. I still can’t believe any of this is happening. I’m a logical person and if it weren’t happening to me, I would never believe it in a million years. People who talked about out-of-body experiences, reincarnation, and seeing God seemed crazy to me. It, hmmm…it sounds kinda outrageous. I feel kinda foolish. Everything’s changing.” Her shoulders slumped. “That person I was, the one I used to be, the woman named Emily, is changing. The jury is still out if it is for better or worse. I can’t even describe it, Cameron. I can’t put it into words. I just have to get up each morning and live and find out what the day brings. I want to believe what my mother used to say, that things like this happen for a reason. I just don’t know what that reason is quite yet.”

  “I believe that, too. There’s really no such thing as coincidences.”

  “Well, in order to prevent my head from exploding, I just have to go for the ride.” She chuckled as she picked up her fork once again and worked it through thinly sliced zucchini. “Thank you for sharing more with me about Brooke.” He nodded. “Did this meeting tonight, so to speak, help you? Was it therapeutic in some way?”

  He rolled that thought about inside his mind.

  “That’s a good question. I think it actually just made me more curious about you.”

  “Are you certain that you’re more curious about me, Cameron? Or are you just hoping to connect with Brooke again, through me?”

  After taking a final sip of his wine, he set it aside.

  “It’s probably the latter, but I can’t be certain either way. Let me ask you something. Would you be willing to continue talking to me? Getting to know one another?”

  “You mean get to know Brooke again. Just admit it. I don’t mind. You are morbidly curious about this.” She smiled, and he did the same. “I haven’t told a soul about this by the way, and I hadn’t planned on telling you, either. But I just kinda blurted it out when I saw you walking away from me that day.”

  “All right, yeah. I am extremely curious. It’s not that I think you’re Brooke—you’re obviously not, you’re your own woman—but it does seem at least a little bit of her has uh, I don’t know, bloomed again, through you, I suppose you could say. And trust me, I don’t plan on discussing this with anyone. It sounds insane and that’s not the type of attention I need. But Brooke believed in stuff like this.” He shrugged. “So, she may have been on to something. She was one of the most spiritually, emotionally, and mentally mature women I’d ever known.”

  “You really loved her, didn’t you? I can tell.”

  “How can you tell for sure?” He laughed. “I’ve always had a way with words, so you can’t trust that. I have the gift of gab, and I’m a poet. You can’t trust poets, Emily. We’re slick.” He winked at her and was met with a seductive smile.

  “Oh Cameron, believe me, in my line of work, I am fully aware of the art of words and mind fucking. It’s not just what you’re saying that I’m paying attention to—it’s how you look at me. You look at me as if you’re looking at her. And that, my friend, is a look of love.”

  Chapter Nine

  A Bunch of Hot Air

  She cheated.

  Emily took a sip of her reheated coffee from Starbucks and savored the rich, warm flavor as it filled her mouth and went down nice and easy. She’d purchased it earlier that evening and placed it in the refrigerator after a wave of guilt washed over her, albeit fleeting. She was still on the ‘Do Not Drink Caffeinated Coffee’ watch list.

  The brew wasn’t fresh now, but she didn’t care. It had been so long since she’d savored a good cup of joe. The taste was amazing.

  This’ll be the only one, then back to decaf until further notice. Hell, I wasn’t supposed to have that glass of wine, either, but the doctor said occasionally was fine.

  She sat in her bedroom at her small desk, polishing off her list of excuses for living her semi-best life, flavored in forbidden beverages. The laptop before her was on, the glare from the screen the only light in the space. It was about two in the morning and her bones ached from some half-assed stretching and low impact walking on the trea
dmill. Her mind was full of worries, new thoughts and ideas, many of which made her truly uncomfortable. Added with that was a dash of paranoia.

  What would people think if they knew she was having this experience? She knew the answer to that; thus, it was still her little secret.

  There was one thought train, however, she couldn’t seem to free herself from. Her newfound attraction to Cameron Davis.

  They’d not spoken since they had dinner the previous week. He’d told her he was quite busy, so when her call wasn’t promptly returned, she surmised that was the issue. He did eventually follow up with a single line of, “Hope you’re doing good,” but that was it. Though fairly confident and not one to lose much sleep over the likes of a man, a small part of her took his generic, late reply as a possible rejection.

  How bizarre of me. We’re not dating, he barely knows me, and under the circumstances, what did I expect?

  Even with past lovers, if they hadn’t responded in a timely fashion, she rarely felt any particular way about it. In fact, she’d been accused of being cold and rigid like an icicle—elusive, detached.

  Yet that evening with Cameron had felt different. The fine wine, the candlelight. Perhaps it was the strange circumstances in which they’d met? No, her gut told her it was more than that. Their conversation had been awkward, flirty, and fun at the same time, transparent yet somewhat guarded. Definitely mentally and emotionally draining, as well as enlightening, when they offered confessions and revealed bits and pieces of their selves.

  She’d discovered Cameron considered himself Black, and he looked that way in her eyes too, but his mother was Puerto Rican with African roots, Afro-Latina to be exact. He went into great detail about the African ancestry of many Puerto Ricans, something that she wasn’t aware of but was too prideful to admit. His parents were middle class, well established, college educated. She was impressed.

  Cameron wasn’t the type of man she’d imagined, and though he didn’t know it, waves of shame for her prejudices washed over her mind as she realized she’d stereotyped him. He was supposed to come from a broken home, product of a single mother raising a slew of children with different fathers. Cameron was an only child and his parents were married before he was conceived. He went to a high school that catered to gifted children—another surprise to her. She wished to know more about him, so much more, but it seemed as if some invisible door had been closed by him, and he sealed himself off without so much as a warning. It didn’t deter her; rather, it made her wish to find ways to discover more.