At least on his end, there should have been some regret, or remorse. Because there was Regan. Regan, who quite literally had not once entered his mind until just that second.
It was like the last several months hadn’t happened, and somewhere inside, he was already relegating his girlfriend to the past. And Zora, as though she had never been gone, was already occupying not just this moment, but all his foreseeable future.
“Okay, might as well get up then. Before the post-midnight crime spree jumps off.”
Zora smacked him on his pecs. “This neighborhood is not like that!”
“Whatever you say. But I hope you can run, because I can’t fight.”
“Oh yes you can. I’ve seen you.”
“When? Oh. Yeah. That wasn’t a fight.” Deuce sucked his teeth.
“Shad sure thought it was. He wound up in Health Services.”
She was making light of it now, but Deuce still remembered how pissed she had been at the time, when he and her ex-boyfriend had gotten into it at an off-campus party.
Zora rolled off him and reached for something on the floor next to the bed. As she did, her ass lifted in the air a little and damned if he didn’t feel like grabbing ahold of it and going for just one more round.
“Stop staring at my butt.”
“Well, if you … present your ass to a brotha like you doin’ right now, what you expect?”
Zora giggled, and looked over her shoulder. “I’m just minding my own business looking for my panties, thank you very much.”
She found what she was looking for, and Deuce snatched them from her, sniffing them and handing them back.
“Did you seriously just sniff my drawers?”
“I seriously did.”
“Ahm … may I ask why?”
“Because I missed the smell of you,” he said without hesitation.
“You weirdo,” she said.
She pulled the panties on, hesitating for a moment, like she was resisting the urge to first take a sniff herself. She wouldn’t get it even if he tried to explain.
Every woman had a different scent, and hers was one that never failed to produce a visceral, animal reaction in him. He couldn’t recall it when she was gone, but he recognized it when she was near, his body reacting to hers on a cellular level and recognizing some element, some part of himself once taken away, that had now been returned.
They had avoided it so far, talking about all the time and miles and other things that separated them. Like the other woman he was with now; or supposed to be with. Regan would be finishing her shift in another couple of hours, and then texting him, if she hadn’t already. Zora had to be curious about her, but Deuce didn’t want to go there just yet. Not if it would kill the vibe they were floating on right now.
“Let’s hurry up and do this, so we can get back,” he said, vaulting himself out of bed, and breaking her gaze.
But when they were outside, walking, side by side toward the store, and he reached for Zora’s hand and held it, he couldn’t help but think about the time. Eight months was a long time. He knew precisely how he spent it.
Two months wallowing as their relationship disintegrated, another two mourning; one in a state of rage, and then the last three in the distraction that was Regan.
“Did you see him when you were out there?” he asked.
“Him who?”
“Rashad.”
“No,” Zora said. Her fingers curled tighter around his.
They got steak, onions, and Zora threw a bag salad in the cart that Deuce told her she knew doggone well they weren’t going to be interested in eating. Then, as an afterthought, he grabbed a box of his favorite cereal, and a carton of milk. Neither of them commented on what that implied.
“Where’s your cousin?” Deuce asked as they walked back.
“He dropped me off earlier and went out. He goes out a lot.” She shrugged.
“Dropped you off from …?”
Zora glanced at him, and he could tell she was trying to decide whether she should answer. Because he was acting like he was her man right now. And he wasn’t. Except that he was.
“We went to a club. To listen to some music. He has a friend who plays sax.”
“Oh yeah? He’s into music, your cousin?”
“Not really. He’s into film. He’s looking for someone to score his documentary.”
“For real? What kind of documentary?”
“Something about Muslims in America.”
“My pops started a new media company. Online content only, but if your cousin’s any good, I might be able to hook him up.”
Zora stopped walking. She tugged her hand from his.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to do it. I’m offering to do it.”
“Well … don’t.”
Back in the apartment, they unpacked the food and Zora pulled out a skillet. The kitchen space was small and cramped, and it was impossible to move around without brushing against each other. Deuce chopped onions while she rinsed the meat, and they didn’t speak, until Zora turned on the flame under the skillet.
“I’ve got that,” Deuce told her. “You always burn the hell outta the steak.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, stepping aside nonetheless.
“You do. Every single time.”
Zora planted herself on one of the kitchen stools and Deuce went to her fridge, pulling out a stick of butter.
“You’re going to kill us both, cooking red meat in butter,” she said from behind him.
“Makes it more tender.”
He worked for a while in silence, skinning and chopping the onions, but could feel Zora’s eyes on him. Finally, she spoke.
“Deuce. About your mom …”
He didn’t turn to look at her.
“I don’t know much more than I told you,” he said, cutting her off. “She’s sick. Very sick. That’s all I know. Stage III she said.”
“Does your dad know?”
Deuce paused, shifting his weight and clearing his throat. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think you might want to talk to him about it?”
“I don’t know,” he said again.
For a long while Zora said nothing more.
When he thought about seeing her, he wasn’t thinking that they would verbally ‘process his emotions’ or anything like that. He just wanted to see her, to be with her. Because seeing Zora, being with her always made things—even the most difficult things—feel more manageable.
Dropping the stick of butter into the skillet, Deuce lowered the flame and watched it begin to melt. He heard the scrape of the kitchen stool and then Zora’s arms were snaking around his waist, and he felt her face, pressed into the center of his back.
“There’s a lot you could be talking to him about,” she suggested.
“Maybe,” he said.
“I think you should,” she said. “Just … try.”
“My pops isn’t one for heart-to-hearts. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”
“People could say that about you, too, y’know,” she pointed out. “If they just went on appearances alone. But I happen to know that if they thought that about you, they would be wrong. You’re the best at heart-to-hearts.”
Only with her, though.
She never understood that; that her place in his life, and the way he was with her had always been unique. One of his greatest worries about their relationship had always been that she thought it was some college thing, something that would fade and eventually die once they were away from the cocoon-like existence of their university campus. And it turned out his worry had been warranted.
At least on her end. For him, there were still many more mornings than he would admit to, when he woke up and Zee was the first thing on his mind. Maybe her coming back now was fated, because he wasn’t sure how he would get through something like his mother’s illness without her.
“The first night we met, I knew you
were a good listener,” Zora continued, her face still pressed into his back.
Deuce leaned back into her. “That’s what you remember about the first night we met?”
She laughed and he felt its vibration. “Sure, there might have been some fooling around, and some good sex involved, but …”
“Good sex?” He turned around and looked at her, pulling her against him. “You mean, best-you-ever-had sex.”
“I’m being serious,” she said, her eyes holding his. “We talked, and you … you surprised me. I had all these dumb ideas about who you were, and you surprised me that night. Did you think I gave you some just because of your good looks?”
Deuce squinted and pretended to think about it, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip.
“Ahm … yeah.”
Laughing, Zora slapped him on his chest. “I’m not that freakin’ shallow! I liked you. I liked our conversation. I liked how you listened. But … my point is, I was surprised. And I think you might be surprised if you talk to your dad. If you give him a chance.”
“I don’t need to talk to my father about this. I have you.” He pulled her closer, and rested his chin on top of her head, feeling Zora’s sudden stillness, and feeling in that stillness her perfectly legitimate hesitation, and questions.
How could he have her, when he had Regan?
“You’re … you’d better check that butter before it burns,” she said, tugging away. “I’ll work on the salad.”
~~~
While Deuce put their steaks on plates to rest in the kitchen, Zora brought out utensils and placemats and set them on the coffee table in the small living room. There was no delineated dining area in the apartment, just one corner that she and Asif had turned into a kind of home office for them both. It was currently dominated by his stuff—two enormous monitors side-by-side on a desk, and sheaves of paper and piles of mail, sent to him in bulk from his previous address in Detroit.
It was a small and crowded living space, and not suited for more than two people. She and Asif could not entertain here if they wanted to. Not unless the ‘entertainment’ was happening as his did—solely in the confines of a bedroom.
“What’s your apartment like?” Zora asked, going back into the kitchen and grabbing the bowl of salad.
Deuce leaned back, bracing himself with his elbows against the kitchen countertop. His brow was furrowed for a moment and then he looked at her with something like surprise.
“You’ve never been to my place,” he said.
“No.” Zora shook her head. “Because … No, I’ve never seen it.”
Because she had broken up with him when he was still squatting between his parents’ homes in Jersey and Bedford, noncommittal about where he wanted to live and whether he wanted to get his own place at all for at least a year.
When he relented, Zora suspected it was because he had finally given up the secret hope that she would come back to New York, and they would choose a place together. That changed shortly before they split, but Zora hadn’t gotten the chance to see his apartment, except in pictures.
“That just seems crazy to me,” Deuce said.
It seemed crazy to her, too.
“Well, we’ve gotta fix that,” he said.
“Maybe, one day,” Zora said, ignoring the pink elephant in the room. “Tell me what it’s like.”
“It’s cool. Big … lots of room. Kind of … empty.”
Zora smiled.
Senior year, she had almost lived in his off-campus apartment. Gradually, little items of hers kept getting added, or left behind—toothbrushes, sneakers, comfortable slippers, a childhood stuffed elephant, various items of clothing and a box of tampons under his sink.
I see you, with all your little turf-claimin’ moves, Deuce had teased her when he happened across the tampons. Jeez. This just blows any chance I can pretend to be single, huh?
But she knew he loved it. Some of those little items wound up at his place because Deuce had been the one to bring them there.
“And you have a balcony, right?” She went to set out the salad then returned.
“Yup.”
“What floor are you on again?”
“Nineteen.”
“That’s way up there. I don’t know if I could sit outside.”
“It’s got a railing that’s about this high,” Deuce said, indicating something just below his chin. “You’d love it.”
“I don’t know. You ever have that urge, when you’re up someplace really high, to like, just throw yourself over the edge? Not in a suicidal way, but just …”
Deuce spluttered into laughter. “Zee, if you’re way up high someplace and want to throw yourself over the edge, that is by definition suicidal.”
“No, that’s the thing. It’s this weird psychological impulse … I looked it up. It’s called High Place Phenomenon.”
Deuce gave her a blank stare that went on for about thirty seconds, until she couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re makin’ that up,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, I swear! You want me to get my iPad so you can …”
She turned to head for her bedroom, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him, so she was leaning against his chest. He looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, studying her. His gaze moved from her eyes, to her lips then back again.
“I feel like I’m in a high place right now,” he said.
When he did that, let his voice go all warm and soft like that, it made Zora feel like she was melting. But that wasn’t all she felt. She still felt the dull ache of him having been inside her. She smelled him all over her. And tasted traces of him on her tongue.
Twisting free, she went to check on the steaks, now fully rested.
“They look pretty good, huh?” Deuce said. “Considering they’re from your sketchy ghetto grocery store.”
He brought them out to the living area, and they ate sitting on the sofa bought secondhand at a hotel liquidation sale. They sat close to each other, their legs almost always touching, their arms bumping even though there was ample room and they didn’t have to make contact if they didn’t want to.
“I’m thinking about moving back,” Deuce said around his last bite of steak. “Temporarily. To Bedford. To my Mom’s house. Just for a while. Maybe until …”
Zora looked at him. “Did you tell her that? Maybe she’d like having you home.”
Deuce gave a short laugh. “I did tell her. And she said she wouldn’t like that.”
Zora laughed with him, shaking her head. “Well, I never could read your mother very well, so maybe … Don’t listen to me.”
Deuce turned a little, so he could look directly at her.
“Can’t help it. I do listen to you,” he said.
She wanted to ask him about his girlfriend. She wanted to know.
Was it serious?
Did he love her?
Did his mother love her?
Had he taken her to meet his father, to meet his siblings?
Or, to his father’s beach house in the Hamptons where they had gone one long weekend, and spent the time swimming, and eating and walking on the beach hand-in-hand like in a corny movie? Except it was real life, their lives, the best time of Zora’s life. Had he taken Regan there as well, and done the same things?
“Zee,” Deuce said, his voice somber. “Look. We need to …”
“We don’t need to do anything,” she said. “At least not tonight. Tonight, all we need to do is take care of you. Okay?”
He stared at her for a long time. And she knew he was wondering whether to accept that or force the conversation he wanted to have. She might have wanted to have it too, if she wasn’t uncertain of what he might say.
“Okay,” he said, finally.
“Are you done eating?” She stood and for a moment Deuce looked up at her, half-perplexed by her abruptness.
She didn’t want to have a conversation right now. Because what he might say could be painful.
He could come to her now, because he was hurting, and she could be here for him. But just for now.
“Are you done?” she asked again.
When he didn’t move, she extended a hand. He took it and they went back into the bedroom.
This time, Zora was on top. She looked down into Deuce’s eyes as she rode him, her pelvis churning in slow and then increasingly faster waves. She was panting and moaning, and then crying and Deuce’s hands were on her breasts and she pressed her hands atop his, making him squeeze her tighter, so tight that he seemed afraid to hurt her.
He pulled his hands away, and instead sat up, kissing and blowing on her nipples, then wrapping her in a bear-hug and holding her against his damp chest.
She came once, and then again. The second time, he shuddered and came with her, and Zora felt its explosiveness deep inside her. As their breaths evened, Deuce held her face in his hands and they kissed. His tongue tasted of spices and perspiration. The rawness of food and sex comingled made her clench her thighs. Inside her, he was still hard.
“Again?” she said, when their breathing slowed.
Deuce nodded, opened his mouth against her neck, and sucked the skin there.
“Again.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Honestly? I’m starting to wonder if I’m even cut out for the law.”
“Course you are. You’re the most argumentative person I know,” Deuce said.
Zora was lying atop the covers, on her stomach, still naked, and Deuce was next to her, reclining against the pillows and braced against the headboard. He reached out and interlaced his fingers with hers.
“If that’s all there was to it, maybe I’d agree with you.”
“So, what is there about it that you think you’re not cut out for?”
“Process,” she said, her voice dripping with something like distaste. “I mean, I thought I was going to learn about, I don’t know, justice. And instead I’m doing … procedure. Y’know what I mean?”
“Nah.”
“Like, how to file papers in court, what each filing is called, how many days you have to file them … All this byzantine nonsense that seems designed to keep poor people from having access to …”
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