Oh, Lord, help me. It doesn’t pay to lie, because then you have to tell another one to make the previous one sound valid.
“What difference should it make to you, Abraham?”
“Because I just want to know if you’re happy.”
“Well, I’m not.”
I can’t believe I just said that!
Abraham doesn’t look all that surprised. “I didn’t think so.”
“What would make you say that?”
“Because there’s no light in your eyes.”
“Maybe I need glasses.”
He doesn’t chuckle at that. “Talk to me.”
“I am talking to you.”
“You know what I mean. I’m harmless, and we go too far back to have to play any head games. I don’t want anything from you. I’m not going to go on Facebook and blab anything you say to me, which is one reason it took me so long to go on it. My sons forced me.”
“My daughter,” I say, pointing to my chest.
“So are you lonely?”
“I don’t feel comfortable saying if I am or not. I haven’t seen you in years, Abraham, and here you come out of nowhere trying to get all inside me like time hasn’t passed.”
“If you are, it’s not something you need to be embarrassed about.”
“Shouldn’t we order?”
“I’m not that hungry,” he says. “Are you?”
I shake my head no. I feel like I’m sinking. Like I’m going to slide under this table onto the floor and curl up into a ball forever.
“How close is your house?” he asks.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
I point.
“I’d love to see where you live and how you live.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Abraham.”
“I think it’s a very good idea,” he says, and stands up and takes my hand. He reaches inside his pocket and puts a twenty on the table.
The waiter comes over and doesn’t even ask.
After I apologize for the blandness of my house and tell him why I’m selling it and how I’m trying to figure out what to do next, or with the rest of my life, Abraham says, “You explain far too much, Georgia.”
Oh, Lord.
“Let me help take some of your worries away today,” he says.
Oh, Lord.
“You can’t possibly do that,” I say.
“Oh, I think I can,” he says. “I just heard what you said. You’re trying to figure out how you want to live the rest of your life. You sound conflicted and yet sure you’re doing the right thing, just like when you kicked me to the curb it was the right thing to do, even though I knew you were in love with me.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“I beg to differ, sugar. You loved me so hard you couldn’t take a chance on having my baby, because you were afraid I wouldn’t live up to your expectations and I’d change the course of your entire life. And that scared the hell out of you. You can admit it now.”
“I admit to that.”
“Can’t believe it took more than thirty years to hear you finally agree with me about something.”
“To be honest, I was worried. But I also think it was probably more about lust than love.”
“Anyway, call it whatever you want to call it, but I was pretty fucked up for almost a year. Didn’t date. Jerked off so much that both of my wrists almost needed casts.”
We both crack up at that.
“I loved me some you, young lady, but I also learned a lot from you.”
I’m surprised to hear him say this.
“Like what?”
“That you have to listen to your brain and not just your heart, even if it hurts. At first I wanted to shake you until your teeth fell out, but time went by, and it took me almost two years to take my stupid ass back to school. When I graduated, I realized how much smarter than me you were. Our future would’ve been rough, and you saw that. So you helped me grow up, and for that I thank you, Miss Georgia.”
“I wish I could say you’re welcome, but I think I see it a little differently. I was afraid of the power you had over me, and it made me feel weak and defenseless, and I didn’t want to feel weak and defenseless. You made me understand how you can lose your mind because someone makes you feel like butter. Plus, you were so damn good in bed.”
“You were the conduit, baby.”
“Please don’t call me ‘baby,’ Abraham.”
“I’m sorry. So do you have anything to snack on around here? I’m starving.”
We head to the kitchen. We eat flatbread crisps with Gouda cheese and sweet pickles and drink tomato basil soup while we stare out at the pool.
“This is a beautiful home you have, Georgia. I don’t know why you think you need to move just because you don’t have a husband.”
“Did I say that?”
“No, but it’s pretty obvious. I know you probably lived here with your last husband, right?”
“And?”
“And you had to buy him out, yes?”
I nod my head slowly up and down, wondering where this is going.
“And now your daughters are on their own, and here you are all by yourself in this house, and you can’t stand the thought of being in here all alone.”
I nod again.
“Which is such bullshit.”
“What do you mean by that? First, would you like a glass of wine?”
“No. I’m good. Iced tea would be nice, if you have any.”
“It just so happens.”
“So thanks for interrupting me and trying to break my train of thought, but it’s not going to work, sweetheart. I’m going to get personal.”
Sweetheart. Baby. Sugar. Stop it.
He looks at me and raises his bushy eyebrows like it’s a question.
I raise mine like, Just say it!
“How many years do you have left on your mortgage?”
“Five.”
“Damn, Georgia! You won’t even qualify for Medicare yet! Seriously. Let me say this. This house isn’t too big for you, and besides, you’ve got grandkids, and there’s no doubt in my mind you’re going to meet the man you’re supposed to meet when you’re supposed to meet him, and chances are the two of you’ll run off into the sunset, and this house won’t have a damn thing to do with it.”
“I’m not moving because I’m not in a relationship.”
“I didn’t say that, did I? Don’t go putting words in my mouth, darling. Honestly. I’d pay this sucker off and sit tight until the market changes, then give it to one of your kids. You’re going to lose a lot of money if you sell it now. It’s just a thought.”
“I’ll give it some thought, Abraham.”
“I have to say this, though. I thought you had pretty good taste in college, and next time you might want to do your own staging, because your little studio had more charm and energy than this.”
I look around and am glad that someone sees what I see. “So what about you?”
“Look at these hands,” he says, and holds out what look like dark brown baseball mitts. “I’m a farmer. Own five hundred acres of the most beautiful land you’ll ever see. I supply soybeans, rice, and sweet potatoes to the likes of Whole Foods and other natural markets. I have about forty employees I pay fairly, and I fight for the rights of black farmers. Which means I go to D.C. quite often. I love my life. And I love my fiancée, even though it’s not the kind of wild and crazy love you feel when you’re in your twenties.”
“I’m happy for you, Abraham,” and I say that honestly. “This is just what I was hoping for, for you. And of course I know what you’re saying about the good old days, but I’d really like to hear you tell me exactly how loving someone at our age is different. And maybe even better now.”
“Well,” he says, and he takes a sip of his tea as he looks out at apparently nothing. “We know each other’s habits. We know how far we’ve come in our lives. We know each other’s shortcomings and
weaknesses and don’t hold each other hostage because of them. We don’t have to apologize for not being perfect. And we give each other what we know the other needs. We don’t have to ask. And we don’t need to be reminded. We know we’re in this for the long haul, because we see this as our arc. No more drama. It’s a waltz. And sometimes a cha-cha-cha. It’s about all I could ask for. All I’ve ever wanted. That answer your question?”
“Well, yeah. I’m touched. She must be an amazing woman.”
“Most women are amazing. They just need to be with someone who makes it easy for them to express it. I think it’s called respect.”
“Well, the line is long.”
“I just wanted to tell you the truth so you know what’s in store for you. Don’t give up.”
“I haven’t.”
“But right now, if you wouldn’t mind strolling down memory lane, it would sure be nice to spend the next twenty-four hours with you so we can memorialize what we once had. You up for that?”
“I think so,” I say.
“We don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable. But how often will we get the chance to enjoy a fantasy?”
“I want to,” I hear myself say. “But I don’t want you to look at me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes I am.”
“That’s not going to happen. And we’re not hiding under the covers. We’re not turning off all the lights and drawing the shades. You’re a fifty-four-year-old woman who’s had two babies, so you might not look like you did in your twenties, but that doesn’t stop you from being appealing now, okay?”
“Okay.”
I get him another iced tea. And one for me, too.
“You want to watch a movie?” I ask.
“Sure, since I’m going to be your husband for twenty-four hours. Let’s play house. What movie do you want me to watch?”
“Before Sunrise.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
We walk down to my bedroom and sit on the floor and lean against the bed and watch the entire movie.
With our clothes on.
I don’t sit close enough to touch him. I’m scared to touch him, but I don’t want to act like I’m scared. So I talk. What I always do when I’m nervous, and I tell Abraham about my plans to take a train ride that I’ve had to postpone.
“Regardless of if and when you retire from your practice or if you decide to sell this house or keep it, go on the doggone train ride, Georgia. It’s not like you’re trying to be Amelia Earhart. Sounds like a gift you should give yourself when you want to.”
“Oh, I’m going,” I say.
“Go everywhere you’ve always wanted to.”
“You sound like my father.”
“You know what?” he says, looking down at me. “I’m afraid to touch you.”
“And I’m afraid what’ll happen if you do,” I say.
“Both of us are at a crossroads in our lives, don’t you think?”
I just nod.
“I’m starting over, and this is going to be it for me,” he says, and puts his arms around me and squeezes me. Rubs my arm up and down as if he’s trying to comfort me from a fall I just had. “I really can’t believe I found you on Facebook.”
“Well, you weren’t on it when I first looked, Abraham.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
I tell him he wasn’t the only one, and try to explain why.
“So I found you,” he says.
“Yes you did.”
“But what were you hoping would happen when you found me?”
“I just wanted to know you were still alive, if you were happy and healthy, and you are, and I’m glad.”
“But I want to know why it was so important to you after all these years.”
“Honestly?”
He just looks at me.
“Last year I found out that someone I once cared a lot about had passed away, and I never told him how I really felt about him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but you never told me either.”
“No I didn’t.”
“I’m all ears.”
And he crosses his arms and looks down at me, and it takes all the courage I have to look him in the eyes and say, “I want to thank you for the time we spent together, because even though it was brief, you made me feel good, and you made me happy, and I did love you and wished there’d been a way we could’ve rode it all the way out. I’m also grateful to you for being the first man to cause me to have multiple orgasms, which I’ve learned aren’t that easy to come by.”
He starts laughing, and I rock back and forth against him.
“And I also want to say I’m sorry.”
“For how you dogged me in the end?”
“That, and not telling you why I couldn’t have your baby.”
“You don’t have to apologize for that. You don’t think I knew why? We would’ve been screwed. We were too young, and I was glad you didn’t go through with it, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
We sit here for another few minutes. It’s so quiet it’s almost scary.
“So how many men have you done this with—unless it’s too personal?”
“My two ex-husbands. And now you.”
“How many do you have left? Again, don’t answer that if you don’t want to.”
“Four. Maybe three.”
“Wow. Is there a ranking?”
“No!”
“Hell, I was hoping I came in first after those husbands.”
“A close second.”
“So after you find them, then what?”
“Then nothing.”
“Really?”
“Well, I think some relationships ended badly and some weren’t finished. And in the case of someone we loved, after the relationship ends, it’s like they disappear or just die. I just wanted you and them to know I didn’t forget you.”
“I suppose there are a few women I could look up, too, and even apologize to. Though some were skanks.”
We both burst into laughter over that one.
“Well, I’m not wasting my time looking up the dogs or the major mistakes or the losers or the ones I just slept with—and don’t ask how many.”
“I’ve found quite a few relatives and old friends, too.”
“I haven’t done that yet. But hopefully I still have time.”
“So can I be honest with you?”
“Stupid question, Abraham.”
“I’m so proud of what you’ve done with your life and what you’re still trying to do, and I’m glad you’re not one of those women in their fifties who’re bitter because past relationships or marriages didn’t work out, and you haven’t thrown in the towel and given up on men and love, and I’m thrilled you’ve still got the same fearlessness you had in college, because here you are thinking of giving up a lucrative profession to jump out into the abyss. Try a whole new path. You still rock, lady, as my youngest says.”
“Thank you, Abraham. Here’s my testimonial: I’m glad you didn’t become a pothead and that you took horticulture seriously, and I respect and admire what you’re doing for black farmers, because I know how they got screwed by the government. I’m even more thrilled that you stand for something, and even though it might feel as if we missed the boat, we didn’t. I don’t think we need to go back. And I’m happy you found a woman who makes you happy.”
“Thank you, sugar.”
“Please stop with the sugar, Abraham.”
“Okay, Georgia, so what are you saying?”
“I would so much love to have sex with you, but I’m afraid that if I do, I would probably want to pretend like we’re nineteen and on my Murphy bed and that I’m about to hit number four. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we should keep our clothes on.”
“See what I mean? You’re still using that amazing brain, and I’m still thinking with the one in my pants, although I was just about to tell you t
hat this would probably be a mistake, because I still and always will love you, and it would be selfish of me to hurt Maya.”
“This is music to my ears. A man with a conscience. And I am thrilled to finally admit to myself and to you that I have loved you for thirty-four years, so there.”
He pulls me up to a standing position, and I walk him to the door.
“But,” he says, looking down at me, “may I pretty please just have one of those deep, juicy kisses I used to love, for old times’ sake?”
And he bends down, and I stand on my toes, and his lips are sweet and warm and soft, and as soon as I feel that waterfall, I gently push him away, and he steps back the same way he did right before he walked out of that restaurant, handsome and strong.
“It was good seeing you, Abraham.”
“It was more than good seeing you, Georgia. Thank you for not forgetting.”
I watch him get into his car and disappear down the hill.
I close the front door.
And lean back against it.
I should’ve married him.
“Well?”
“ ‘Well’ what, Wanda?” I ask back. I’m finally doing laundry. Something I’ve almost forgotten how to do.
“Don’t play with me, Georgia. Did you give it up or not? Did he get rid of the cobwebs? Did you fall back in love? Is he the same or better or worse after a thousand years?”
“We hugged. And he’s much better.”
“Hugged? Clothes off or on?”
“On.”
“Don’t tell me Abraham’s gay?”
“No. But he’s engaged.”
“And? That’s not the same as married.”
“I told you I wasn’t trying to hook up with him, Wanda. My goodness.”
“Did he want to or he didn’t want to?”
“Oh, he wanted to. We both did. But it would’ve been dangerous for both of us.”
“You know what? Don’t even bother explaining. I don’t know any man in his right mind who would turn down some free pussy.”
“You can really be crass sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, it’s for your ears only. Anyway, so how’d he look? And what’s he been up to?”
“He looks better now than he did back then. He’s a farmer.”
I Almost Forgot About You Page 23