Rhyme & Reason

by Nia Forrester

  It was Nicolas who laughed this time, but when he spoke his voice was sober.

  “C’mon, you know what I mean. It’s a real zoo out there, y’know? Especially in this city. Millions of people and almost impossible to make a personal connection.”

  “I think I do know what you mean. But I guess I was spared the zoo. I just got out of a relationship not too long ago, so …”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. We were together for over a year.”

  “And it’s over now?”

  Zora hesitated.

  To say ‘yes’ felt like a lie. To say ‘no’ felt like she was deluding herself. Especially since not too far away, Deuce was probably lying in bed, with Regan wrapped around him, the way Zora used to be. The way she had been, just a week ago.

  “Sorry.” Nicolas spoke into the silence. “None of my business. It’s just that it’s been a while since I met someone who made me want to lean in, y’know?”

  Zora ignored the question. “How ‘bout you?” she asked instead. “Relationship-wise. When was your most recent foray into the wild world of coupling up?”

  “My last girlfriend was a jazz singer. We were together for almost three years up until about six months ago. But it’s pretty hard to be with someone who wants to be famous more than they want you.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Nah. At least not anymore. Now I see that setting her free was the right thing to do.”

  “Did you do the setting free, or did …”

  “Dang. You just gon’ expect a brother to air all his dirty laundry, huh?”

  “You brought it up!” Zora laughed.

  “Okay, yeah, I was the one who did it. But not really. You know what I mean? I gave her what I could tell she wanted but was afraid to ask for.”

  “That sucks.”

  “But anyway … I didn’t call you to trade sob stories. I called to tell you how cool it was hanging out with you tonight. And how cool it would be if we could do it again. Soon.”

  His voice was warm, his manner of speaking slow and unhurried. And there was the hint of the same accent that Asif had, that her brother, Ousmane had. It made Nicolas feel familiar, and safe.

  “Do you have anything, or any time in particular in mind?” Zora heard herself asking.

  “Actually, yeah. I wasn’t thinking about this before, but I’m on a break right now between sets. And when I’m done it’ll be about one-thirty. There’s a place I go to, a diner where they have the best fried chicken and waffles you ever had in your life. Open all night. Full of musicians and degenerates … but has a lot of soul. A lot of character.”

  “Are you asking me to meet you at one in the morning at a diner where degenerates hang out?”

  “Pretty much. I would love to talk with you some more, Zora. And not while you’re half-listening and half-watching a Swedish police drama.”

  Zora fidgeted with the edge of the sheet she was sitting on. She looked at the television, muted when she answered the call. Onscreen, one of the characters was hiding in the dark behind a tree, looking across a lawn into a house where the tall glass windows revealed a couple and small child inside eating dinner. The woman behind the tree began to weep silently.

  “Okay, where’s this seedy diner?” Zora asked.

  “I wouldn’t make you leave your house at this hour to meet me on your own. I’ll come in a car and get you.”

  “I hope you know my cousin wouldn’t approve,” Zora teased.

  “I think he would,” Nicolas said.

  “Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I already told him when I first met you. I’m not here to play.”

  Zora’s eyes opened slightly wider. For just a moment, she felt a tiny thrill. Confidence was sexy.

  “O… okay. What time should I expect you?”

  “I’ll be ringing your bell by two o’clock. No later.”

  “Cool,” Zora said, trying to restore the nonchalance in her voice. “See you at two.”

  ~~~

  They didn’t eat much, though Nicolas got one order of chicken and waffles for the table and set it in the center, equidistant between them, so they could pick at it when they wanted. Instead they sipped tea and talked. Tea, because Nicolas didn’t drink coffee he said, and Zora blurted out that she could tell since his teeth were so perfectly white. And then she was embarrassed to have acknowledged that she noticed something like that.

  Nicolas laughed at her obvious mortification and bared his teeth in a grimace, so she could almost see them all, and Zora laughed with him and wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

  “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he said.

  “Just when I laugh?” she asked. It seemed easier to feign flirtatiousness than admit how pleased it made her to hear it.

  “Always. But more so when you laugh.”

  His stare was so unwavering, Zora dropped her gaze to the table and reached for her fork. Before she could get to it, Nicolas put a hand over hers, briefly squeezing it and then letting go.

  “It’s really late,” he said. “But I can hang for a little while more if you can. Want to walk for a bit?”

  Zora looked out onto the street through the pane glass window. It was after three in the morning now, but the sidewalks in this neighborhood were far from empty. The late-night revelers were out in full force, taking advantage of the milder temperature now that the sun had long been down.

  “Okay,” she said, nodding.

  Nicolas signaled for their server and settled the bill.

  As they stepped out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk, he reached for Zora’s hand to hold it. She let him.

  “So, tell me more about your gig,” he said as they started walking north.

  “What gig?”

  “Lawyering.”

  “Not much to tell since I haven’t started yet. Still in school.”

  She was very aware of her hand in his, the calluses on the pads of his fingers, and the comparative softness of the rest of his palm.

  “What made you want to do it? Study law I mean.”

  Zora shrugged. “It wasn’t a burning desire or anything. I was always into social activism, and so I had all these, I don’t know, debates and arguments with people. Everyone always said, ‘you should be a lawyer’ because of that. And since I had no better ideas …” She shrugged again.

  Nicolas looked at her. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. That, and the fact that both my parents think a first degree is the equivalent of a GED, so a second degree in something was pretty much a foregone conclusion.”

  “I know what you mean,” Nicolas said.

  “But you seem to have made an … unconventional choice. Are you like, a musician full-time, or …?”

  “Yeah. I get lots of studio work, which pays really well. And then I gig on weekends, sometimes on Thursday nights.”

  “How’d you get away with that, with Senegalese parents?”

  “Who said I got away with it?” Nicolas laughed. “They still ride me, nearly every week, asking when I’m planning to get a job. Or go to medical school.”

  “Aw.” Zora gave him a moan of sympathy.

  “One time I went on tour with Sade and that bought me about six months of peace, but after that? Yeah, it was business as usual.”

  “So, music is it for you. Despite the parents’ nagging?”

  “Music is it,” Nicolas said nodding. “Till I’m too old and arthritic to play anymore. And then, I guess I’ll teach.”

  “My ex-boyfriend …” Zora broke off. She hadn’t thought about Deuce for most of the night.

  “It’s okay,” Nicolas said. “You can talk about your ex-boyfriend. After all, you’re here with me, right? And I’m guessing he’s an ex for a reason.”

  Zora fought the urge to defend Deuce. She didn’t know that he was an ex for a reason. At least, not for a good one.

  “I was just about to say that he’s in the music business as well. On the business sid
e.”

  “Oh yeah? Would I know him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s with SE?”

  “Oh. Cool. Yeah. I’ve done some work with a couple of their people. But they’re mostly popular music, rap, stuff like that. Not a lot of use for a sax player.”

  Zora nodded, sorry that she had called up the ghost of her and Deuce’s relationship to intrude upon what had been an almost perfect evening.

  She couldn’t believe she had done this—gone on a date with Nicolas and then agreed to go on yet another one, less than six hours after the first.

  Two months ago, she would have never given anyone half a chance. Two months ago, she her emotions were bloodied and bruised, and she was missing Deuce like a limb that had been recently amputated. Two months ago, she couldn’t have imagined that he had been so far past missing her that he had gone out and found himself a Regan.

  “Hey.” Nicolas stopped walking and tugged at her hand, to pull her closer. “C’mere.”

  Zora stood still as he walked closer. Their chests were a fraction of an inch apart but touched every time Nicolas inhaled.

  This time, when he leaned in, his kiss was not polite and patient.

  This time, when her lips softened, his tongue sought entry.

  This time, she opened up. And let him in.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The black Maybach was parked in the driveway, right in the spot where Deuce usually parked when he came home to see his mother. For a few beats, he felt annoyance, until it dawned on him who had likely driven the car.

  Shutting off the engine and getting out of his own vehicle, Deuce hesitated before putting the key in the front door and turning the lock. Hearing voices from upstairs, he paused and waited.

  There had been one other moment, something like this when he was still in high school. A friend dropped him off, or someone’s parent gave him a ride from football practice, he couldn’t remember now. But he had opened the door to the unmistakable sound of fucking. His mother’s higher-pitched screams, punctuated by gruff, masculine grunts.

  Deuce had backed out of the door and turned to head three doors over to his boy, Kenny’s house before he realized that his father’s car was parked out front. He remembered how disorienting that was for a moment, because his parents hated each other. They couldn’t have a ten-minute civil conversation without it turning into a screaming match. So, the idea that they might be having sex, repulsed him.

  He stayed at Kenny’s only long enough to assure himself that whatever they were doing, they would be done with by the time he went home. They were. Done, and sitting in the kitchen at the center island, as casual as could be.

  His father was staring down at his phone and reading something, and his mother was drinking a cup of coffee. They didn’t even seem to register each other’s presence.

  When he entered the room, they looked up almost simultaneously. Studying their faces, Deuce looked for some sign of what he knew had transpired, but there was none. He could almost have convinced himself that it had all been a figment of his imagination.

  How was football practice? his father had asked. As casual as could be.

  And Deuce had loathed him for that.

  Now, he shut the front door a little more loudly than he might otherwise have done, then shrugged. He had no fears that his parents might be in a compromising situation now—his mother was too ill, and his father too much into his wife—but it still felt weird to stumble in on them together.

  Making his way slowly up the stairs, their voices became clearer, so he could hear something of what was being said.

  “… job is done now that he’s grown,” his mother said.

  “Stop talkin’ like that,” his father responded sharply.

  “No, Chris, I’m serious. You and I both know, he’s the only thing worth a damn I ever did in this life, so …”

  “So, you just gon’ give up?”

  “I didn’t say …”

  “So stop with that crazy shit! This ain’t you. You fight. That’s who you are.”

  Then came the sound of his mother’s laughter. Genuine laughter, girlish and melodious. The kind Deuce usually only heard when she was talking to his aunt, her sister.

  “Oh, that’s who I am, huh?” she said.

  “You know what I …”

  Deuce stood in the doorway of his mother’s bedroom suite. She was in her armchair, legs folded beneath her, wearing a kimono. Her hair—a little thinner now—was up in a high ponytail, and her face was bare of makeup. Her complexion had the grayish pallor that Deuce had come to expect over the last several weeks, unless she wore foundation and added a little color to her cheeks. Except now he knew the reason for it.

  At the sight of him, her eyes brightened, and his father looked over his shoulder to see why. He was sitting on the ottoman directly in front of the armchair, knees spread and leaning forward with elbows resting on them.

  His parents, sitting together like this, almost touching—and not because they were trying to kill each other—was so unusual, Deuce had to take a moment to absorb it, and then to collect himself because he hadn’t anticipated how it would make him feel. It was almost as unsettling to witness as hearing them screwing all those years ago had been.

  He swallowed hard and gave his father a curt nod in greeting.

  By habit, he searched his mother’s eyes, waiting for her cue on whether it was cool for him to be cool. For as long as he could remember, the temperature of his relationship with his father had been dictated by her. Only when he moved away for college had he and his pops begun to establish a tone and rhythm completely of their choosing.

  But now, in the moment, the shock of seeing them together made him regress.

  “What’re you standing there for with your mouth open?” his mother demanded. “C’mon in. Lookin’ like you seen a ghost.”

  He came closer, leaned in and kissed his mother on her cheek, holding his breath a little because she had begun to emanate a subtle odor lately. It was something he couldn’t name, that he instinctively recoiled from, and that scared him a little.

  “Hey, Ma,” he said.

  “Hey,” she returned. “Didn’t tell me you were comin’.”

  “I need to tell you when I’m coming now?” he asked.

  Deuce sensed his father tense a little. It was another maddening element of his parents’ relationship. His father and mother never seemed to speak to each other with respect but bristled if he followed their bad example.

  “You don’t need to tell me, but you usually do though.”

  Deuce exhaled and looked around the room, finally sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked at his father head-on for the first time.

  “How’s … everybody?” he asked, purposely not mentioning any names.

  The existence of a wife and two children still stuck in his mother’s craw as far as he knew, despite this cozy little scene. The other two kids, and the other woman whom his father had not married, did not bother her as much.

  “They’re good. You should stop by soon. We’re having a thing in a couple weeks. Call Robyn and she’ll give you the details.”

  Deuce nodded.

  Then they were all silent until he spoke first.

  “Did you …?” He looked at his mother. Then at his father. “Do you …?”

  His father nodded. “Yeah, she told me.” He looked at her. “And I told her, it’s a raw deal, but she’ll be a’ight.”

  His mother sighed, like she didn’t quite believe it, but was tired of arguing the point.

  “You all plan to take me to the store, or what?” she asked, pointedly changing the subject.

  “You want to go get something to eat first? Ellen’s again?”

  “How ‘bout you just give us a list?” his pops said unexpectedly. “Me and Deuce’ll go get whatever you need.”

  “I could use something to eat as well. Not just stuff I’ma have to cook later.”

  “We’ll get whatever you need.”
<
br />   ~~~

  Deuce didn’t think his father even knew what the inside of a grocery store looked like. But they walked the aisles together, consulting the list that his mother had given them, and dropping items into the cart. They didn’t speak at first, until they were near the end of the list, and finally, his father glanced at him.

  “You a’ight?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Guess so.”

  “I know it’s … it’s fucked up,” his father said. “So, if you need to, you know, if you need to talk, come see me.”

  Deuce nodded but did not look at him until he felt his father’s hand on the back of his neck.

  “You hear me?” he said. “Come talk to me. If you feel like … breakin’ down, or … Don’t do it in front of her. Come talk to me.”

  “I hear you,” Deuce said, his voice hoarse.

  “No. For real. She cannot get even a whiff from you that you think she might not beat this.”

  “Yeah, I said I hear …”

  “Deuce, look at me.”

  He looked at his father, but with difficulty, because he was remembering how he reacted when his mother first shared the news. He reacted like her little boy. Like he was a kid all over again.

  “I’ve known your mother a long time. She’s strong, but she’s not superhuman. I can tell she’s scared. So it’s your job, our job, not to be. You understand? At least in front of her.”

  Deuce nodded, blinking hard to control the sting behind his eyes.

  Then his father pulled him closer, and into a hug, one arm around his neck. The embrace was brief, but firm, then he was stepping back and turning toward the supermarket cart once again.

  He sighed heavily. “C’mon, let’s finish up and go get her that burger she asked for.”

  When they got back to the house, his aunt was there, in the kitchen. She didn’t comment on his father’s presence and took the grocery bags from him to begin unpacking them. The other bag from the burger place she shook her head at, and gave a half-smile.

  “She’s really not supposed to eat stuff like that,” Aunt Stacey said shaking her head. “But … she’s out on the porch.”