There were tears in Zora’s eyes now, which she blinked away, and when that didn’t work, she swiped at them with the back of a hand.
“And I tried that … but how the hell you ever expected me to be your friend … when I didn’t even know why we were …”
“I know,” Zora said, her voice just above a whisper.
“Do you know though, Zee? What that was like for me? Because I fucking … I was all in for this.” He motioned between them. “And I thought you were too.”
She said nothing. She stood there and let him rant at her.
“Two months of a bullshit trial friendship and then six months you didn’t get in touch,” he continued, shaking his head. “Y’know what I did to get over that?”
Zora shook her head.
“I tried to party my way out of it. I went out damn near every night. Got lit … spent shitloads of money, spent time with chicks I didn’t give a crap about …”
At that part, Zora’s face collapsed a little. Her shoulders heaved but she didn’t utter a sound. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but this time she didn’t try to wipe them away.
“I even fucked some of them,” Deuce added, feeling for a moment full of spite.
Making a gulping noise, like the swallowing of a sob, Zora still didn’t speak.
“And then I met Regan, and I settled into that and it was better. But pretty much every day I woke up, and I was … big-mad … because the woman next to me was supposed to be you!”
When he finally stopped, his shoulders were heaving, and Deuce felt as though someone had cleaved open his chest and laid everything bare. He wasn’t even sure how they had gotten here. From a chill evening cooking and eating dinner, talking about his professional future, to this.
A few feet away from him, Zora had fully dissolved into tears. She cried quietly, occasionally making one of those gulping noises, containing whatever sounds she might otherwise want to make. Seeing her cry made every ounce of the anger he’d just expressed melt right out of him. It was like snapping out of a trance.
Shit. He couldn’t believe he’d thrown in her face that he fucked other girls besides Regan when they were apart. If she had said something like that to him, even before her sentence was fully out, his fist would have gone through a wall, no question.
“Baby … c’mere …”
He extended a hand to her, but she shook her head.
“You’re right,” she spoke between gulps and tears. “Everything you said is right. And I have … I shouldn’t be angry about Regan coming here. Really I’m just … I’m angry that there’s a Regan at all, and … that it was my fault.”
“You never … We never talked about what happened,” he said, keeping his hand outstretched toward her. “I know some of it, but … I need to know why.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Almost right away it wasn’t what I thought it would be,” Zora said. “I didn’t like California; I hated my apartment …”
“I thought you liked your place,” Deuce interrupted her. “You said …”
“I know I told you I did. I told myself I did. But I was putting a good face on things. I’d let my father convince me that maybe I was better off farther away, and once I was there, I thought I’d make the most of it.”
They were back on the sofa, sitting far apart, not touching.
“Your father convinced … You never told me that.”
“I know. Because he never even really said the words. It was all kind of … implied. After graduation, when we were together every day, and you even came over a few times, I think he got concerned.”
“About …?”
“About how serious we were. About what we might be to each other. And one night when we were having dinner alone together, he said something about how easy it was to confuse intensity with depth, or longevity. Talking about us … the way we were.”
Deuce was very still.
“You remember how it was that summer?” Zora continued. “We were fighting all the time, then making up, and you didn’t want me to choose a West Coast school and I was … I let all that sway me.
“So, I … wondered whether my father was right, and whether being away from you, I’d get some clarity or something. And beneath all that there was this other implication that it … that we were all fun-and-games, but that I needed to buckle down and get serious about the life I was supposed to have.”
“The life where you find a good Muslim man, and …”
“Yes,” Zora admitted.
“So, that’s what you thought. You thought it might be time for us to be over, so you could …” He looked down at the floor and bit hard into his lower lip, shaking his head.
“No. But I knew that if I was in California, we’d get tested and then I’d be sure that we …”
“I didn’t need the test,” Deuce said, looking up at her again. “I already knew my answer. I was already sure.”
“You don’t understand.” Zora reached for his hand. “It’s easy if you’re an American kid to just live this ‘free to be me’ lifestyle, but …”
“Zora, you grew up as a so-called American kid, too. So, don’t give me this bull…”
“Yes, and no, Deuce! I mean, you’ve never had to straddle two worlds that’re …”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, but that’s not the same. Being a rich Black kid is not the same as being an African-American kid where the Africa part is very, very present, and where the Muslim part is … I’ve pretended to my father my entire life almost. Pretended not to have ever smoked, drank, had sex … That I fasted on Ramadan, that I would never try a piece of bacon …
“And all of a sudden, it was catching up with me and it was like he was calling my bluff. Asking me to prove the truth of all those things I’d pretended all my life and be the good, Muslim daughter I said I was.
“It was like he gave me a pass for all that might have happened before. Giving me a pass for … being with you. And telling me that if I had fallen short, that time was over. And it was time to come home.”
“So, you did. You decided to go home.”
“No, but …” She took a breath. “But that’s why I told you that maybe we should be friends. Just for a little while. I was trying to sort it out in my head, think of how I might bring my father around … something, without all the pressure from you, from him ... And then … Ousmane went to France. The golden child. The one who does everything right. He was gone and my father was all torn up about it, and all he was left with was me, the screw-up. The one he doesn’t … get.”
“Did he say any of this, Zee?” Deuce asked, looking pained. “Or did you …”
“He didn’t need to say it.”
“And you didn’t think you could talk to me about it?”
“What would I say? That I wasn’t sure we could be together because my father wants me to be a tradit…”
“Yes!”
“I don’t even know if my thoughts were as organized then as they are now,” she admitted. “All I know is that I missed you … I missed you so much, and I hated my classes and my life …
“And it scared me to think that everything I believed about myself might be a lie. That I could easily give up law school and come back to New York and disappoint my family and just … let you … take care of me, or something.”
“I would’ve. If you asked me to, I would’ve taken care of you.”
“I know! But that’s the problem. It would have been too easy. Don’t you get that? I would have disappointed my father, and maybe even … I don’t know, lost my family. Or part of who I am …”
“So, you decided to lose me instead. You just let me go. Let us go.”
“I didn’t think I was doing that. I just needed some time. And then I was …” This was the part she didn’t want to admit. “I was online. I saw a picture. Of one of those nights you just talked about. You were in a club, and a girl was on your lap, and …”
“What girl?”<
br />
“I don’t know. You looked drunk. There was a girl in a short dress, sitting on your lap. And I thought … I’d already told you I thought we should just be friends for a while, and so …”
“You thought I was messing around with that girl. Since you and I were ‘just friends.’”
“Probably. Yes. Maybe.”
“And that’s when you … broke things off for good.”
“Yes.”
~~~
He had been waiting around, in truth. Biding his time and waiting for her to come to her senses. After telling him she thought that friendship was what was “realistic” for her, Deuce thought he might have been pressing her too much. She was in California, and had started school, so maybe he’d been pressuring her too hard and that was why she was saying she needed this break.
She had classes, she was getting acclimated to a new city, new coursework, being without her friends and family nearby. He chalked up the ‘let’s-be-friends’ thing to temporary insanity. There wasn’t a future he could envision where he and Zee wouldn’t be together, so she had to come around.
But that didn’t make it any easier.
He went out a lot more, taking Harper and his co-workers up on their invitations to clubs and shows, and VIP parties with artists they were trying to sign. He drank, he smoked, and he stumbled home. But alone. Always alone.
If there were girls, he didn’t care about them. He hardly even noticed them. Some were pushy, but there were always those. It didn’t matter, because none of them could change what he felt for Zora.
Until he got that call.
It was late evening for the West Coast, well after eleven p.m. so he was surprised to see that it was Zora calling him, since she knew he was three hours ahead.
I’ve been thinking about all this, she said. This is stupid. You should be free to do … whatever. And I should be free to do whatever. It’s just stupid.
What’re you talkin’ about?
I know I said we should be friends. But, honestly, if we try to do that, I’ll just … it’ll be weird when you maybe meet someone. Or I do.
Meet … Zee, what the fuck are you talking about? I don’t want this. I told you I don’t want this friend bullshit. Deuce sat up in bed, flipping on the bedside light, now thoroughly awake. Why would I meet someone? What …?
It’s what I want then. She sounded wooden, unlike herself.
No, I don’t believe that. What’s goin’ on? Tell me what’s …
Nothing’s going on. I’ve just been thinking. I need to focus. We need to set each other free to do what we have to do. And maybe, just for the time being, we shouldn’t be in touch. Until …
Zee, he said, pleading with her. Don’t do this. We just need to …
If you love me, if you respect me, you won’t … You’ll just leave me alone, Deuce. Please.
And then she hung up.
But he didn’t leave her alone. He couldn’t. He loved her. He respected her, but hell nah, he didn’t leave her alone. He called back about a half dozen times that night, and then the next day, countless times more. He did that for a week without a single answered or returned call when he decided to go to California to see her; and he even bought the ticket.
The night before he was scheduled to leave, he went to Lounge Two-Twelve where he flirted with the bartender who helped get him drunk. He told her he would give her a ride home at the end of her shift, and she laughed at him.
You’re way too drunk to give anyone rides anywhere, Christopher.
She knew who he was, who his father was. And she thought—the way most people who only knew him from a distance thought—that he would find them calling him Deuce to be too familiar. So, she called him ‘Christopher.’
But I’ll tell you what, she said. We can go home together, if you want.
Deuce didn’t know if he realized when she said that, that she meant to her home. He later told himself that he was too drunk to know, or to think too long or too hard about what was likely to happen if he did go with her.
They rode in an Uber together, and she kissed him during the ride, her lips tasting like the booze she shouldn’t have been drinking on the job and weed she for sure shouldn’t have been smoking.
She had a studio apartment, with a futon shoved into one corner and a cat she locked in the bathroom before coming out only in her bra and panties. She pulled off his pants, tugged his shirt over his head and told him he had a great body. He said she had beautiful breasts and she thanked him, taking off her bra with an impish smile.
Touch them, she said.
He did.
All he remembered of the night after that moment was her saying she couldn’t believe he didn’t have a condom in his wallet, and then producing one of her own.
The next morning, when he woke up with a pasty mouth, a headache, and a skinny, naked chick next to him, Deuce had been too ashamed, too disgusted with himself to even think about getting on a plane to go see Zora.
Maybe this is how it ends, he remembered thinking about him and Zora. Right here, on a dirty futon lying next to some girl I don’t even know.
~~~
“I don’t remember a girl sitting on my lap, Zee. And if there was …”
“It doesn’t matter now, because later on you were doing a lot more than having them sit on your lap.”
“What was I supposed to do? You left me, and I had no idea what was going on in your head, or whether we’d ever …” Deuce stood, pacing a few feet away. “And then you just walk into a fucking bar one evening and tell me you’ve been back in New York for weeks?”
“And I’m sorry for that. But …”
“What were you doin’? For eight months when we weren’t together … What were you doin’?” he asked.
“I was … rediscovering Islam.”
Deuce turned and looked at her, surprised that after all this time she could still … surprise him.
“I went to mosque. I studied for school. And other than that, I studied the Qur’an. I talked to an imam. I went to discussion groups. And I tried to find a comfortable peace with it.”
Sinking onto the sofa once again, Deuce tried not to feel betrayed. More secrets. More about herself that she hadn’t shared.
“And have you? Rediscovered Islam?” he asked, trying not to sound sardonic.
“Somewhat. I guess? I know I believe the Shahadah: that Allah is the only God, and that Muhammad is his prophet.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that,” Deuce said.
“You don’t have to respond to it. I just … it’s part of who I am. But nothing about that means that I can’t love you.”
“But what does it mean for … marrying me? Having my children.”
Zora said nothing.
“And that’s why … why you can’t say ‘yes’.”
She nodded.
Exhaling, Deuce pushed himself up and stood.
“I gotta … I need to get some air,” he said. “Clear my head a little bit.”
“Deuce …”
“Just … I gotta go walk for a little bit. But …” He turned when he was at the door. “But I hope you’ll be here when I get back.”
~~~
What does it mean for marrying me? Having my children.
The words spun round and round in Zora’s head, so she couldn’t sleep. She even got up and went out onto the scary balcony and stared out at New York in lights. And when that didn’t help quiet her mind, she made a cup of tea, padding barefoot into Deuce’s shiny chef’s kitchen and finding a box of loose tea and a diffuser, which she was quite sure belonged to his ex-girlfriend since Deuce was neither a tea nor a diffuser kind of guy.
Marrying me. Having my children.
The words filled her with a glow that she couldn’t dim, even though he had walked out of the apartment leaving them in a state of unease and uncertainty. It was the way he said it … marrying me, having my children.
Like it was a conclusion he thought o
f as foregone, or at least had thought of that way until he realized her religion might be a fly in the ointment. But not for him, it was clear. Hearing that she had begun studying Islam again, he feared that his not being Muslim might be a problem for her. Until that moment, Zora hadn’t realized that part of her fear had been that Deuce might not be able to accept it if he knew she wanted to keep her faith.
But he did accept it. His only worry had been … what does that mean for marrying me? Having my children.
Having his children.
She wasn’t Asha. She couldn’t pretend she would be placid and philosophical if she were to unexpectedly get pregnant today, or next week, or next month. She might not even be Zen about it if she were to get pregnant next year. But deep inside, the thought took root that she did want that, one day. She wanted that one day, with Deuce.
She didn’t know the answer to the question he had asked. Had no idea, really, what it would mean if they got married, about her observance of her faith, and the likely faith into which they would raise any children they might have. Those were big questions, that perhaps they could never answer on their own without spiritual guidance. But even asking them meant that they were of one accord.
Zora drank the jasmine tea with honey sitting alone in the living room and went to bed. This time, she drifted off easily.
She came awake in the wee hours, and only because she felt Deuce’s arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. He was warm, and a clean scent wafted off him, like soap.
He moved her mass of hair aside and brushed his lips against the back of her neck. His solid arm held her even closer.
“You’re here,” Zora murmured, feeling sleep begin to pull her under once again.
“Yeah, baby,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
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