Choose Me: a novella

by Golden, Kim

  She already knew where she’d hang it.

  The portrait had also brought back all of those emotions. She remembered the circumstances leading to it: the awful excursion to Glasgow on a soggy winter’s day, the Italian model who’d stomped her feet and burst into a searing temper tantrum when Fergus announced that the shoot would take place in a cemetery. And Jessica, wanting to see how Chris and Fergus worked, how they planned each shot and took advantage of the little natural light they could, tagged along, offering to help with reloading cameras and fetching mugs of tea and coffee. Every free spare moment was an excuse for Chris to lean over her and steal kisses. Then Fergus gave up and sent them back to the hotel, and then they’d made love—first in the tub and then again in the spacious bed. It was the most comfortable and sumptuous bed that either of them had ever slept in. The cotton sheets felt like silk against their skin, and the velvety bedspread looked and felt as if it cost more money than either of them had ever had.

  They’d just finished making love, and every muscle in her body was sore yet longed for more. Chris left the bed and said, “I have to capture this moment…” He was naked and his body was lean and long like a swimmer’s. He moved so easily, not at all self-conscious of his nakedness or that anyone might see—especially since they’d left the curtains open and there was an office block just across the small road from their hotel. And she’d lain there in wait, her body still humming from the way he moved her. For a brief moment she wondered if everyone felt like this or was this something that only they shared. The scent of his skin was on her and she raised her hand to her face to drink it in. And then there was a small click and a white flash.

  He’d caught her.

  As soon as she arrived home, she rushed into her bedroom and removed a framed African art print from the wall facing her bed and set it on the floor. She wanted to see the portrait everyday without prying eyes wondering who’d taken it and when, why she’d agreed to it and what she was thinking at the time. This moment, though everyone at the vernissage had witnessed it, was private. It was something that only she and Chris understood. In her bedroom it was safe from Aisha’s eventual criticism. Her mother, she knew would just give it a cursory glance and then add some acerbic comment about Jessica letting someone take advantage of her.

  “This is just for me,” she said. “I don’t want them ruining it for me.”

  Then she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Though she was hungry, she was too excited to even think about cooking anything. Besides, her fridge was embarrassingly empty since she hadn’t done her weekly grocery shopping on Monday evening. Instead, against her better judgment, she’d gone Speed Dating with Aisha at Club Zanzibar on Columbus Avenue.

  From the beginning it was a venture in futility. It had gone as most other nights with Aisha at Club Zanzibar went. From the moment they arrived, Aisha’s in-your-face self-confidence and allure attracted men like bees to honey. And though the rules clearly stated that you weren’t to chat anyone up before the Speed Dating sessions began, there were more than enough brothers willing to bend those rules if they thought it would give them the advantage over everyone else.

  Jessica had tried to be enthusiastic about trying out this novel method of meeting people. Hadn’t Philadelphia Magazine and Essence raved that it was the perfect way to break the ice and get past the embarrassingly stilted small talk of the traditional First Date? She smiled as brightly as all the other women, but the men who approached her were Aisha’s sloppy seconds and all they wanted to do was talk about Aisha. And after an hour of sixty-second dates that fizzled within the first thirty seconds, Jessica was more than willing to call it a day when Aisha decided that Speed Dating was boring and, besides, she was starving.

  “Never again,” Jessica muttered as she searched the kitchen drawer where she kept all of her takeaway menus. “I’d rather marry Tyler even if it means being bored to tears than have to go through another Speed Dating session.”

  She found the Thai menu she’d been searching for and quickly jotted down which appetizer and entrée she wanted. Before she could call in her order, though, the phone rang. For a second, she froze. What if it was Tyler? She’d told him that she was going to the movies with her mother. If she answered, he might wonder why she was at home. But why would he be calling to check up on her? She didn’t think he’d ever done that before when she’d begged off at the last minute. But what did it matter? She could always say they couldn’t get tickets and anyway it wasn’t any of his concern.

  So when she heard Aisha on the other end, she breathed a mental sigh of relief. “I thought you were out with Lover boy tonight.”

  “I took a rain check,” she said with a grin. “Two Fridays in a row was more than I could handle.”

  “I still don’t get how you can turn a fine brother like him down time and again,” Aisha said wistfully. “Brothers like him don’t grow on trees, you know.”

  “You should make a play for him then,” Jessica suggested half-jokingly. She liked Tyler’s attentions, just not in the large doses he dished them out in. Plus, he had the annoying habit of treating her as though she wasn’t as intelligent as him. “He’s nice but he doesn’t do anything for me. Not like that anyway.”

  She heard Aisha suck her teeth in mock dismay. “You a trip, sometimes, Jess. You don’t want to be alone, but you don’t want the men who are interested in you.”

  “Why should I compromise if they aren’t what I am really looking for?”

  “So why do you keep stringing Tyler along?”

  “I’m not stringing him along. I told him from the start it was platonic,” Jessica argued. “He’s the one who’s trying to cross a line I already established.”

  “Okay, okay! Don’t get all riled up,” Aisha laughed. “Besides, I only called to find out if you wanted to meet up tonight.”

  “Not tonight, I’m really—” the doorbell rang “—tired. Hold on…”

  She set the handset on the kitchen counter then rushed out to the hallway to open the door.

  Then he was standing there, holding a packaged wrapped in brown paper, looking the same as he had two years ago. The careful veneer he’d worn at the vernissage was gone, replaced by the old Chris—the one who never cared if his hair was combed or his jeans pressed. She swallowed hard, trying to remember to breathe and not really sure what she should say or do now that he was there.

  The smile he gave her was careful, guarded. He held the package out to her and said, “Special delivery.”

  The sound of his voice carried her across the ocean again, to that loft in the converted stable and all the nights spent wrapped up in each other. Two years, and he still burned bright…

  She started, bringing herself back to the here and now. “God, hi! Come in!” Her voice sounded way too high. Calm down, Jess, she thought tersely. Don’t get ahead of yourself…

  He stepped inside and eased the door shut. “I saw your name in the order book…”

  “God, yeah. I was so surprised when I turned up and saw my face…and your name on the program…”

  “Yeah, this is my first big show.”

  Then she remembered Aisha. “Wait, I was on the phone. Let me just end it, and I’ll be right back.” She padded into the kitchen in bare feet, nearly slipping on the polished wood floors. To Aisha she said, “I’ll call you back later…” and hung up before her friend could protest. Her heart was beating a million beats per second. He was here, in her apartment. Oh. My. God.

  She took a moment to calm down, then walked back into the living room. He’d set the package on the coffee table and was standing by the couch, his hands tucked in the back pockets of his jeans.

  “It’s been a long time,” she said. She nearly cringed. It had to be one of the lamest things she’d ever said, especially considering that she was the one who’d made it so.

  But he didn’t react to how inappropriate it may have sounded.

  “It has,” he agreed. “But hey, h
ere we are…”

  No, this was too awkward, she thought. Maybe this was difficult for him, standing in her apartment and seeing her again. The old vibe was still there and she hoped it wasn’t unrequited. She could feel it, strumming and throbbing between them. She couldn’t take her eyes off him and knew she had to keep busy lest she just stand there like an idiot.

  “I can’t wait,” she blurted out. He raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. “I have to open it!” She set about untying the twine securing the package, then ripping away the corrugated paper and brown wrapping paper. There she was… captured by him, even now she could see how heavy her eyes were with want for him… he’d captured the moment just as Monet had said every artist should strive to do. There was no mistaking the desire and the secret knowledge shining in her eyes.

  “It’s beautiful…”

  “It’s one of the best pictures I’ve ever taken,” he said. He was looking down at the floor. Seeing him like this, with his hands thrust in his pockets and his head bowed, he reminded her of a nervous schoolboy. Even his messy hair and the frayed hem of his jeans were boyish. And just then he was that same boy who’d nearly spilled beer on her in Edinburgh, the same boy who’d once stood outside her window calling out to her in the middle of the night just to sing a silly love song to her.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said quietly. She closed her eyes, not daring to see the expression on his face.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  She felt the weight of his stare on her now and she looked up. She didn’t know what else to say. Neither did he. He sat down beside her, close enough that she felt the heat rolling off him but far enough away that they weren’t touching. Their silence filled the room again and again.

  “You made me beautiful in it,” she said finally. She angled her body so that she could look at him.

  “I can’t take credit for that,” he grinned. “You already are beautiful.”

  Again, a pocket of silence welled up. Jessica reached out, wanting to touch him but instead tracing her fingers over the black-stained frame.

  “I had to deliver the photograph. When I found out that you were the buyer… I had to do it.”

  She nodded slowly. “I wanted you to find me. I was hoping you would see my name, but I was afraid maybe you wouldn’t look for me.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t come?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing? I’ve Googled you a thousand times the last couple of days, wanting to send you an email or find your phone number.”

  They grinned at each other, still shy and not quite sure what was appropriate. How many times had they made love in Edinburgh, and now they were afraid to just touch?

  “I didn’t see you at the vernissage. Christ, if I’d seen you…”

  “I saw you,” she admitted.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You were with someone and so was I,” Jessica replied. “Besides, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to see me. Not after how things ended.”

  “You should have said something to me.”

  “I didn’t know what to say.”

  “’Hi’ is always a good start.”

  She smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He was leaning close to her now. She could smell the undertones of his aftershave, spicy like cloves and ginger. And something else…the familiar scent of his skin. She wanted to curl into him and hold him, bury her face in the dovetail of his shoulder and erase all that had gone wrong between them.

  “So what happens now?” he asked. He sounded uncertain, and he looked away as he said it. His jaw twitched.

  “Now?”

  “Well, you wanted me to find you, and here I am.”

  “Yeah, here you are…” It bubbled out of her in a giggle that embarrassed her. She sounded like a silly schoolgirl who didn’t know what to do with the present she’d received.

  “So what now?”

  She shrugged again, hating herself for being at a loss for words. Just tell him what you’ve thought all this time. Don’t waste this moment. Capture it!

  “I always regretted what happened.” it was a start, she thought.

  “We were stupid to throw it away.”

  “It wasn’t you. It was me. I was the stupid one.”

  He didn’t disagree. She didn’t blame him. He’d tried to hold on. She was the one who pulled back, who severed all ties and never tried to hold on.

  “I…things were so tense when we came back to Philly. I don’t know if it would have worked out between us—”

  “Things are always tense. But you can’t let other people determine your happiness, Jess.”

  “I know. It was just…complicated.” The words clotted in her throat but she continued. “Even now, I keep hearing and reading about what’s expected of me as a black woman…and I see how people—white and black—react when they see interracial couples…and it’s scary how angry they get.”

  “Are you still afraid of that?”

  “A little.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything. He’d picked up the twine and was roping it around his hand.

  “Are you seeing someone?” He ventured.

  She nodded and then told him about Tyler. “Everyone says I’m lucky to have someone like him interested in me, but he’s not what I want.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “No. Not for me anyway…it doesn’t matter.”

  Then she stopped herself. She was ready to push Tyler aside and she didn’t even know where she stood with Chris or if he even wanted to be with her again. “But… you’re seeing someone too, aren’t you?”

  “Sylvie, the woman who owns the gallery,” Chris said. “I think I was going through a Mrs. Robinson stage when I met her…and so was she. It’s—well, she likes being seen with younger men, I’ve figured that much out…and I think she likes to see herself as my patron or something.”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “No. It’s not love.”

  He stared long and hard at her, and it felt like he was seeing right into her. Then he reached for her, and she welcomed it. They were kissing, hungry and full of want. Shivers rolled through her and she tightened her arms around him. She felt him trembling in her arms. He feels it too! The taste of his mouth was sweet and hot. She wanted to drink him in, melt into him. When they came up for air, she was shaking and she hugged her chest, waiting for a moment of clarity to come.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said softly. “I keep telling myself I made a mistake and now you’re here, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Give us a chance.”

  “There are other people involved.”

  “They don’t have to be. You said it yourself: you’re not in love with Tyler. I’m not in love with Sylvie.” He slid his arm around her shoulder. They kissed again, drawing away reluctantly. “We could make it work, Jess. If you give us a chance, we could do this.”

  She nodded again, letting his words sink in. Then she stood and drew him up with her. They embraced again. His arms were tight and secure around her and she felt herself falling. When she let go, he was smiling that same smile that had caught her in Edinburgh.

  Nothing else really mattered.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kim Golden is a Philly girl through and through--even if she has lived in Stockholm, Sweden with her husband Tord for close to twenty years. When she isn't writing copy for a living, she can be found in various cafés in Stockholm writing her next book. She is the author of The Melanie Chronicles and Linger: a short story. She also writes a kick-ass blog, Kim Talks Books, http://kimtalksbooks.com.

 

 

 
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