by J. J. Murray
Dylan shook his head. “No.” He leaned forward, picked up his glass, and took a sip. “The only heart I broke was my own.”
I know that feeling. “How did it happen?”
“I loved two people at the same time,” he said, “and I ended up alone.”
He . . . cheated? This nice man was unfaithful? “You had . . . an affair?”
He set his glass on the table. “Oh no, nothing like that, though it seemed that way to Marie.”
“Who’s Marie?” Hope asked quickly. Too quickly! Just let the man talk!
“Marie was my girlfriend at the time.”
And?
“It’s really not important, Hope,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin our first date.”
“You’re not ruining it,” Hope said. “What was Marie like? How long were you two together?” And who was the other woman you loved?
“Marie was . . .” He sighed. “I’ll use your phrase. She was the love of my life. She came here from Bermuda when she was a child. We met at Brooklyn College and dated for five years before she moved in with me.”
Five years. They were practically married, and she was from Bermuda. She had to be pretty. “What happened?”
“A tiny little girl named Shayna,” Dylan said, shaking his head slowly. “She happened.” He gripped the armrest with his left hand.
So it wasn’t another woman. I shouldn’t feel relieved, but I do.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I become attached to the kids I work with.”
Hope nodded.
“I love each of them. I even miss them when they’re not there. I’m with them up to twelve hours a day, and sometimes I think I know them better than their parents do.” He closed his eyes. “I gave my heart to Shayna. I couldn’t help it. She had such a big smile, and she was so tiny.”
Like Aniya.
“Shayna came to us when she was three,” Dylan said. “She was dying of NCL, neuronal ceroid lipofuscinoses. NCL is extremely rare, and kids with NCL rarely live past the age of five.”
That’s so sad! Now I see why he doesn’t want to talk about her. Something similar is happening to him with Aniya.
Dylan cleared his throat. “And along the way, kids with NCL lose their sight and have endless seizures. Shayna could barely see me when we met.” He smiled. “She liked listening to my watch and holding onto my nose.”
“I like your nose, too.” It’s not really a beak.
“Thank you.”
I shouldn’t have pried so hard. I don’t like seeing him so sad. This apartment has seen enough sadness.
“I held Shayna through so many seizures,” he said. “They weren’t all grand mal seizures. Sometimes only her eyes would move back and forth. She couldn’t even speak. She barely made a sound. I like to think that she knew I was there, but I’ll never know. We were inseparable from the day she arrived.” He finished his water, his hand shaking slightly.
“Do you want some more water?” Hope asked.
“I’m all right,” Dylan said, sighing. “And that brings us back to Marie. I had been asking Marie to marry me for years, but her momma and deddy kept getting in the way. They kept her close to them, what they called ‘under heavy manners,’ and they said they didn’t come across the ‘pawn’ from ‘de rock’ to have some ‘pawn dog’ like me ‘put the munch on’ their daughter.”
I can hear Marie’s parents speaking. They almost sound like my own.
“So I had finally gotten Marie to entertain the idea of getting married when . . . when Shayna was nearing the end. Marie couldn’t understand why I worried so much about Shayna. ‘She gon’ die, Dylan,’ she said. ‘It is word yuh care so much for dis garrl.’ Marie said ‘word’ instead of ‘weird.’ ” He smiled and shook his head. “But I couldn’t help caring for Shayna. I wanted Shayna’s last days to be her best days, even though I knew she couldn’t see or hear any of those days. I talked to Shayna nonstop, though I knew she probably couldn’t hear me. We went on walks, we went to the zoo, we fed the ducks . . .” He sighed. “We were two odd ducks, a grown white man and a little brown girl bundled up in a wheelchair. That’s where I got the original name for my—I mean, our—company. I named it ‘Odd Duck’ because only I was left in the end.”
Hope felt a lump forming in her throat. I should have kept my mouth shut and eaten some banana dumplings. This is tearing him apart.
“I truly loved that little girl,” Dylan continued, “but Marie couldn’t accept that. When Shayna lay in the hospital taking her last breaths, I was there with Shayna’s family. I asked Marie to meet me at the hospital, to meet Shayna for the first and last time, so she could see why I had to be in Shayna’s life. To see why I loved her so much.” He bowed his head. “Marie never showed up. Shayna died a day later with the tiniest little sigh. When I got back to our apartment, Marie was gone, and everything that was hers was gone. Everything, even the wooden napkin rings and the plastic corncob holders, and all I had for company after that was my grief.”
They were together a long time. He had to try to get her back. “Did you . . .” I don’t have a right to ask this.
“Did I what?” Dylan asked.
“Did you try to get Marie back?” Hope asked.
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “I practically stalked her. I’m surprised she didn’t get a restraining order on me. I went to her job, her parents’ house, her new apartment. I left notes everywhere, called her . . .”
“She must have been beautiful,” Hope said.
He nodded. “On the surface, yes, she was beautiful.” He stood and walked to a window, resting his hands on the windowsill. “But she wouldn’t have me back. The last time we spoke, she told me, ‘Yuh should love the livin’, not the dyin’. Yuh waste yuh love on a little garrl who could never love yuh back.’ All my life I’ve believed in loving the living until they die. I loved my mother that way, all the way to the end.”
I thought I had baggage.
He turned from the window. “But even after Shayna died, I still loved her. I couldn’t remove that little girl from my mind, and that made me useless for anyone else for the last five years.”
“Did you date?” Hope asked.
“I went on a few dates, but I wasn’t really there, you know? I was just going through the motions.” He laughed. “I was the one-date wonder.”
“You don’t have to answer,” Hope said. But I need you to answer! “But what kinds of women did you date?”
He returned to the futon. “All these questions. You used to be so shy.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be shy around you from now on,” Hope said. “I want to know you better.” Now answer my question.
“I guess I dated the rainbow, so to speak,” he said. “I have always been attracted to contrasts. Growing up in Brownsville, I didn’t see many girls my color. Not many Irish girls in Brownsville. I’ve dated girls and women from Guyana, the Bahamas, Jamaica, Haiti.”
More Island girls. “Is that . . .” Don’t ask!
“Is that why I’m attracted to you?” Dylan asked.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Hope said.
“But it’s what you want to know, right?” Dylan asked.
Hope nodded. “I’m just a little insecure.” Which is like saying the Sahara Desert is only a little hot.
“Hope,” Dylan said, “I’ve seen you at Thrifty for five years, and I’ve only really known you for a few days, but I already care so much for you, and not just because you’re helping me make more money. I like you.”
He doesn’t even really know me yet. Should I tell him anything more?
“I like being with you, I like eating with you, I like myself when I’m with you,” he said. “I also like what I see. I love your eyes. They’re dark and mysterious and I want to explore their mysteries.”
Why can’t I feel my hands? My legs are shaking.
“I want to caress your hair.”
Now my scalp is tingling. Keep talking!
“
Your smile is so bright, and your skin is flawless.”
My skin is starting to glow. I may have to turn the thermostat down even further.
“You have long legs.” He winked. “I have a thing for long legs.” He took her hand. “And you have long, delicate fingers.” He kissed each one. “You are dangerously beautiful.”
I’m not a danger, am I? If he keeps talking like this, he’s in danger.
“But . . .” Dylan said, sighing. “But I’m not entirely yours because of what’s happening to Aniya. Do you understand?”
“Your heart belongs to Aniya,” Hope said.
“Not ‘belongs,’ exactly, but pretty close,” Dylan said. “I’m holding back a little better this time, trying to be careful. Aniya gives me so much joy, and there are days I wish I could be her. I wish I had her positive outlook on everything. I know that even if she gets a bone marrow transplant, she’ll still only have a fifty-fifty chance, but at least she has a chance, and now that you’re in my life, and I want you to stay in my life, I’m afraid you’ll think I’m wasting my time with Aniya.”
“You’re not wasting your time, Dylan,” Hope said. “You have a big heart. I really like that about you. You’ve opened your heart to me.”
He nodded.
“And you’re reopening mine. From what I saw of Aniya today, I feel for her, too. Aniya does more living while she’s dying than most healthy people ever will.” Including me. “So, what’s her prognosis? What are the doctors saying?”
Dylan smiled, slid closer to Hope, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for asking. Marie never asked about Shayna, as if not asking about her would make Shayna go away. You have a big heart, too.” He kissed her lips lightly. “And I love your lips.”
He said the L-word.
He sat back. “The doctors originally gave Aniya a one-in-ten chance of surviving, and you know what she said? ‘That’s a terrible batting average, Dylan. I’m a better hitter than that.’ You should see her hit a Wiffle ball. She’s deadly. I’ve been praying for another miracle.” He took Hope’s hands in both of his. “I didn’t want to tell you any of this after you said you’d been alone for eight years. It didn’t seem right. I’ve never told anyone about all this, and here I am dumping it on you on our first real date.”
“Second,” Hope said. “The other one counts. We held hands and we hugged. That constitutes a date.” Hope took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m glad you told me all that, though it had to hurt you to tell it. Do you want to hear about my eight-year drought?”
“Only if you want to tell it,” Dylan said.
“I think I need to.” I know I need to. “My boyfriend, Odell, broke up with me on Christmas Eve.”
Dylan blinked. “On Christmas Eve?”
Hope nodded. “It’s one reason Christmas and I don’t get along.”
“I don’t know the guy,” Dylan said, “but what an ass.”
Odell had a big one, too. Why did I ever think he was handsome? “That ass broke up with me right here in this apartment. Well, not in the apartment. He didn’t have the decency to come inside the apartment. He stood in that doorway.” She pointed at the door. “And he told me things from there, like ‘Who would marry your plain, hard, underemployed ass anyway?’ He also called me the whitest black woman he ever knew.”
“He’s not an ass anymore,” Dylan said. “He’s a punk.”
Odell was bay-it. Why did I ruin my life for the last eight years over bay-it? “A month later, Odell was engaged to another woman, who, honestly, wasn’t much prettier than me.” That might have hurt the most. She was plain like me, and here it is hurting me again. “A few months after that they got married, and a year later they had a daughter. I only know that because I bumped into them one day after work a few years ago. Have you ever bumped into Marie?”
“No,” Dylan said. “I don’t know where she is now. I had heard she and her parents had moved back to Bermuda”
Good, and she had better stay there. “I know it’s wrong, but since that rotten Christmas Eve, I have hated Christmas. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.” I don’t want to say this next part, but Dylan has to know. “Dylan, I have been severely, desperately depressed ever since.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I am a certified mess.” Please, God, don’t let Dylan think I’m incurably insane! I need this man! I need him to help me heal! Please don’t run away, Dylan. I’m only a little crazy. You’re making me less crazy. Hope squeezed his hands tightly, and more tears spilled from her eyes. He’s still here!
“Why are you crying?” Dylan asked.
“You didn’t run away,” Hope said, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. “Well, you haven’t run away yet.”
“Why would I do that?” He pulled Hope close to him. “I ran to you. I’m not running anywhere from now on unless it’s with you.”
Hope clung to Dylan. “Thank you.” She looked into his eyes. “Thank you.”
He kissed her tenderly. “Are you over your depression now?”
I can’t lie to this man. “No. Not yet. I don’t think my depression is going to go away without a fight. You make me so happy, Dylan, but when you’re not around . . .”
“I’ll have to be around more often then.”
Hope smiled.
He pulled Hope onto his lap, her back resting against his chest, his hands resting on her stomach. “You’re sexy.”
“Thank you.” I only wish I looked sexy again.
“Have you ever seen somebody about your depression?” Dylan asked.
“No. I know I should have gotten some professional help, gone on some medication, or at least gotten some counseling, but I didn’t. I don’t like to spend money on myself, and I definitely don’t like paying medical co-payments.” She grabbed his arms and pulled them tightly around her. “But I know I am sick, Dylan. I don’t eat for days at a time.” She picked up his right hand and wrapped his thumb and index finger around her left wrist. “I’m not just thin. I’m skin and bones.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Dylan said, sliding his hand up her arm and leaving a trail of goose bumps.
“Trust me, you’d notice if you saw the rest of me. I can see my ribs clearly. Anatomy classes could use me for demonstrations. It’s why I wear baggy clothes so no one will notice. I’m cold all the time.” She pointed to her bed. “It’s why I have a blanket, a comforter, and a quilt, and I still shiver.”
Dylan nosed through her hair and kissed her left ear. “Are you warm enough now?”
“Yes, very,” she said. “Thank you.” She took another deep breath and exhaled. “I’m going to tell you something extremely personal now. No one on earth knows this.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
I feel safe with you. Please don’t ever leave! “I’m not quite a complete woman. I haven’t had a period in over a year. I’m about twelve months late, and that’s not good. It’s called amenorrhea, and it’s one of the signs of anorexia nervosa.” For such a light woman, I am laying it on heavy tonight. “I don’t look into a mirror and see myself as fat or anything like that. I see bony me just fine. When I’m wearing my glasses. If I take them off, I’m just tall, black, medium-size fuzz. The funny thing is, I like to eat. I love to eat. You’ve seen me eat. I just don’t feel like eating most of the time because. . . because I don’t feel like living most of the time.” She held his arms more tightly around her. “Until now.” She pointed up at the main beam. “I look up there sometimes and see a way out, but I’m too cheap to buy the rope. I don’t even know how to tie a noose.”
“You’ve been suicidal?” Dylan asked.
“I’ve thought about it, yes, but I’m too squeamish to go through with it. But by not eating, I’m essentially committing suicide slowly. But not this week. You’ve been feeding me. Everything I’ve eaten with you has been delicious, even the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. I just know I wouldn’t have eaten anything but maybe a few crackers this week if you hadn’t come along.”
“I’m g
lad I came along,” Dylan whispered. “Not only are you my business partner, you’re my meal partner. I eat so much better when I’m with you” He slid his hands up her arms, his hands warming her skin. “Have you ever seen a specialist about any of this?”
My hairy arms are goose bumps. “I’ve almost been to the doctor on numerous occasions, but as I said, I’m cheap. I hate paying someone to tell me what I already know. I wear clothes and shoes until they fall off me. I rarely buy anything new. These are the only two drinking glasses I own.”
“Why are you so thrifty?” Dylan asked.
He was nice enough not to call me cheap. “I have a crazy dream about a beach house. It’s completely ridiculous, actually, because a girl who grew up in frigid, snow-swept Canada should not want to live in a beach house. It’s absurd.”
“Ah, but you are still an Island girl,” he said. “That beach house is hardwired to your DNA.”
“Yes, but I’m more Canadian than anything else,” Hope said. “I was born in Canada. I lived most of my life there.”
“Well, you know about my dream to run a day care center for the arts,” Dylan said, his hands massaging her shoulders gently, “and just about everyone I’ve told about this dream, especially the banks, thinks this idea is absurd.”
“It’s not,” Hope said.
“Thank you,” Dylan said. He walked his fingers from her shoulders to her neck, massaging as he went. “You have a wonderful dream, Hope. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to own your own place in the sun.” He worked his fingers through her hair to her scalp. “You know, I can see you in a beach house. You’re out on your deck, sipping your strong, sweet morning coffee and watching the sunrise. I can even see you outside walking in the sand, exploring the dunes, your skin turning darker and your hair flying in the breeze. You belong on the beach.”
Keep working on my head. That feels so good. “You see me turning darker than I already am?” Hope softly asked. Dig those fingers into my roots. Yes. Right there.
“Yes. Except for your ears.” He pulled her hair away from her left ear and nibbled on it. “Your hair covers them. You would have caramel ears on a chocolate body. You’d be like a candy bar. I like caramel.”