Jump

by Terra Little

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beige is stunned. It is the only word I can come up with to describe the vacant look on her face as she walks into my apartment and sees Aaron sitting on the futon flipping through CDs. She has heard me mention his name, knows he is my friend from downstairs, but she has never seen him. She stops a good twenty feet away from him and eyes him warily, like he is the Cookie Monster and she is a giant coconut macaroon. He looks up from a Nona Hendryx CD and locks onto her scrutiny, gives her a taste of her own medicine.

  It is a weird moment and I stand there, watching them watch each other and waiting for someone to speak. Finally, I figure out that I should be the one to introduce them to each other. “Beige, you remember me mentioning my friend Aaron,” I say, closing the door and reaching for her backpack. She is spending the night with me and her backpack is stretched to the limit, full of all the things she thinks she needs to survive for twenty-four hours.

  “The guy from downstairs,” she says slowly. “Your friend with the weight machine.”

  “Right. You finally get to put a name with a face, huh?” She doesn’t see my smile because she is busy staring at Aaron. I look at Aaron and he is looking at me curiously. “Aaron, this is—”

  “Beige,” she cuts in. “Beige Hunter. Nice to meet you.”

  Aaron sets a stack of CDs on the coffee table and rolls to his feet. Standing, he towers over me and Beige, looks imposing and not to be played with. Like a black Mr. Clean with hair. Beige’s eyes travel over him from head to toe, and then she takes a small step backward. She remembers her manners and slips her hand inside the one he offers.

  “It’s a pleasure,” he says. “I’ve seen you come in and out of the building a few times. Didn’t know you were visiting Lena.”

  “I come a lot. Mostly on weekends, when school is out. She says you’re a writer.”

  “Newspaper columnist. What term are you?” I can see the wheels turning in his head, can see the dots connecting. He does a good job of keeping surprise out of his face, but I know him well enough to know that the wrinkles in his forehead mean he is slightly irritated. He wants to choke me, but he wants to confirm his suspicions first.

  “Just a freshman.” Beige swivels and takes my eyes. “My mom didn’t tell you?”

  “Your mom,” Aaron says, nodding slowly. He smiles like he is just figuring out something that he should’ve known all along, and then he runs a hand around the back of his neck. “She mentioned a few things. You look a lot like your mom.”

  “I’m cuter.” She ends her statement with a flirtatious smile.

  “I don’t know,” he hedges, playing along. “She’s got a little something going on too.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What is it the kids say, don’t hate?” I roll my eyes at Beige, and then I let Aaron see me roll them toward the ceiling. “Did you bring your math book?”

  Suddenly, she is fourteen again. Shoulders slumping and lips long. “Yes, but we don’t have to do my homework tonight, do we? Some of the other kids are going skating, and I was gonna see if you could take me.”

  “You mean like drop you off and pick you up?”

  “You can stay there with me and skate too. It’s a family skate night thing.” I go over to the phone and pick up the receiver, start punching in numbers. “Who are you calling?”

  “Mr. Rork, or whatever his name is,” I say, serious with a capital S. “I need to tell him that your fantasy is ridiculous and he should shut the island down.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Aaron says. “Take the girl skating, and you skate too.”

  “Keep dreaming. And shut up, Aaron. I’m baking salmon tonight, remember?”

  “You can bake it tomorrow night.” He pretends not to see the silent communication I am sending him, and I want to get him in a headlock. “Do you know how to skate, Lena?”

  “Do you?”

  “I do a little something.”

  “Well then, you go.”

  “Mom . . .”

  I look at Beige. “He can take you and I’ll stay here and make dinner.”

  “You know you’re being silly, right?” He turns to Beige and shrugs.

  “Just a little,” she cosigns.

  I am outnumbered and I know it. “How long does this thing last?”

  “Five to eight.” Beige sizes Aaron up once more and hooks a thumb in his direction. “You can bring him if you want to.”

  “I’m not skating, so get that out of your head.”

  “Okay. Probably there will be some other old heads you can sit around talking to,” she says.

  An hour and a half later, Aaron is making me sick and I stick my tongue out at him for the third time in a row. As he rolls around the rink and does a crazy leg move for my benefit, I think about giving him the finger. We stare at each other, and then Beige is directly in my line of vision, her face less than six inches from mine.

  “Mom, I need money.”

  “I just gave you money.” I hand her the soda I am playing with and pat my pockets. “How much more can you eat before you throw up?”

  “I’m planning on stuffing myself so I won’t have room for salmon.” She drinks half my soda and trades me the cup for a ten-dollar bill.

  “I think you’re planning on loitering around the concession stand until that acne-plagued boy behind the counter notices you.” Her face turns bright red and gives her away. “Told you some things are timeless, didn’t I?” She giggles and rolls off, disappearing inside a circle of sweaty-faced teenage girls making their way over to the concession stand.

  I turn around and almost run into Aaron. I didn’t hear him roll up behind me. “You look like one of those roller skating dudes from the seventies.”

  “I never noticed it before, but you look like a mom,” he says and skates backward over to a bench to sit down. He pats the spot next to him and unlaces his skates. “You should see me in my own skates. These are rentals, so they don’t know my feet on a personal level. I can really get down in my own shit.”

  “Is that why you’re sweating like a pig and looking like you’re about to pass out? All that getting down you were doing?”

  “Hey, at least I was doing it.” He changes back into his Nikes and sits back. “She seems like a good kid, Lena.”

  “She is. Vicky did a good job with her.”

  “Must have killed you to have to be away from her for so long.”

  I stare into my cup and swallow. “It was my punishment. For doing what I did.”

  “I thought that’s what prison was,” he sounds impatient. “Repaying your debt to society doesn’t stop there though, does it?”

  “I don’t think it ever stops. Are you angry because I didn’t tell you about her?”

  “I’m wondering why not, yeah.”

  “I can’t answer that. Maybe because she’s mine and I don’t want to share her just yet. I haven’t had her in so long.”

  “What about her father? Where is he?”

  “I told you the women in my family are fucked up, didn’t I? He was never a factor. She doesn’t know who he is, and it’s been so long, I don’t even know if I remember, myself.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “That’s my life.” I drop a hand on his thigh and squeeze, wanting to make him smile. His face is entirely too serious right now, and I need to move away from serious for a while. “Come on, Aaron. Cut me some slack. I was going to tell you, okay? I just need to do things in my own time and in my own way.” I wait for him to give me his eyes, and then I smile an apology.

  “You’re a pretty woman, you know that?” He sees me blush and chuckles. “You know that.”

  “Nothing about me is pretty.”

  “Are you serious?” He searches my eyes, looking for hints that I am teasing him and fishing for compliments, and it doesn’t take him long to see that I am telling him my truth. He snorts in disbelief and shifts on the bench, bends an elbow on the back and props his face
in his hand. “You are serious. Damn, Lena. Can I just say that I disagree? I mean, I can’t speak for the next man, but I think strength is pretty, in its own way. Courage is sexy as hell, and perseverance is straight up hot. In the right woman, of course. I see all those things in you. Plus, your skin is so clear and smooth I can damn near see through it, and you’ve got a really nice ass.”

  I choke on soda and swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, unable to look Aaron in the face. “You shouldn’t be looking at my ass.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “I can’t stop you, but . . .”

  “Look at me, Lena.”

  I keep talking and don’t look. “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t be looking at my ass. I don’t ogle your body.”

  “You don’t?” He knows I’m lying and it shows on his face.

  “Okay, I saw your chest a few times and you have nice legs, but that’s only because you never have clothes on.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to tempt you.”

  “Aaron, please. I had to make you put on shoes before we left the house.”

  “So?”

  “So you’re a caveman. Temptation has nothing to do with it. You have no home training.”

  “You like a caveman, no-home-training-having man. Don’t you, Lena?” He flicks a finger down the side of my face and I wave it away. “You like me.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t.”

  “I like you too.”

  I set my soda aside and blow out a strong breath, wipe my palms on my thighs and look at him. “Okaaay. What do we do now that that’s out of the way? Exchange phone numbers and meet in the hallway between classes?”

  We stare at each other. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous. I just . . . this is . . . I know there’s a way to do this, but I can’t seem to remember what it is. I’m out of practice.”

  “It’s like riding a bike, Lena.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a bike, Aaron. I don’t know if I’m ready for you.”

  “What do you think I want from you?”

  “I don’t know, sex? Men like sex.”

  “Intimacy doesn’t have to be synonymous with sex, and in this case, I don’t think it should be. I’m trying to be close to you.”

  “You are close to me. How much closer do you want to be?”

  I am unprepared for his hand on the back of my head, for our lips to meet in the space between us, and I freeze. I keep my eyes open and on his. He does the same, and we look cross-eyed to each other, with our faces so close and our lips resting against each other’s. From beginning to end, the kiss is chaste and it lasts only three seconds, but it seems to end too soon. It takes me that long to discover that his lips are soft and that I like the weight of them on mine. I like the feeling of his nose mating with mine.

  He pulls away and I squeeze his thigh, signaling to him that I want him to come back. My tongue darts out and wets my lips, and then we connect a second time. There is more pressure this time and I sink into it, take the kiss beyond one I would give an elderly relative, and give as good as I get. I tilt my head and part my lips slightly, inviting Aaron to come inside.

  He ends the kiss with a hard peck and shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, pushing off the bench to his feet. He looks at me long and hard, and then he grins. He walks away and leaves me wondering if I have turned him off by not knowing how to kiss.

  I tell myself that I will not embarrass myself even more by asking him what he thinks of the kiss, but the question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I glance at the staircase and make sure Beige is way ahead of me, out of sight and on the third floor, and then I touch his arm. “Did I do it right?” I whisper.

  Aaron ducks his head and puts his face close to mine. “Do what right?”

  “The kiss. You didn’t say anything.”

  “I should be asking you that, instead of the other way around. I was given the privilege of kissing you, Lena. So you tell me, did I do it right?”

  “Mom,” Beige calls from the floor above us. Her voice is sharper than it needs to be. She does not like to be kept waiting, but I’m ninety-nine percent certain it’s because she isn’t all that fond of Aaron.

  “I have to go,” I say and jog up the stairs.

  Beige leans against the wall, fidgeting with the zipper on her shirt as I unlock the door. She has been unnaturally quiet since we left the roller rink, but she comes back to life as soon as I close the door at my back.

  “He’s kind of fine,” she says, stepping out of her shoes and setting them by the door. She stretches her toes in her socks and pretends like she’s not interested in my response. “You didn’t say he was cute.”

  “I didn’t think being cute was a prerequisite for being a good friend. And why are you noticing that he’s cute anyway?”

  She rolls her eyes like I am dense. “Seems like you spend a lot of time with him.”

  “I guess I do. He’s a nice person.”

  “If he’s so nice, then how come you didn’t tell him about me?”

  The question stops me cold. I drop my purse on the futon and scratch my fingers through my locks, thinking. “I don’t really know how to answer that, Bey. I guess I didn’t tell him because I wasn’t ready to tell him. The subject never came up.” I realize a second too late how that sounds. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds.”

  “Sounds like you kept me a secret from him. I walked in here and he didn’t have a clue who I was. But I knew who he was because you always talk about him.”

  “I don’t always talk about him.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s always, ‘Aaron says this’ or ‘Me and Aaron went here or there.’ You talk about him all the time.”

  “Okay, so he’s my friend. So what?”

  “I think he wants to be more than just your friend.” She flops down on the futon and aims the remote at the television. “Can we order pizza?”

  “Yeah, we can order pizza—after you tell me why you’re pissed with me.”

  She makes me wait while she channel surfs and plays with the volume of the television. She doesn’t look at me and I don’t think she’s really seeing the television either. She tries to tune me out, and I don’t appreciate her efforts. I walk over to the television and stand in front of it, making it impossible for her not to see me.

  “I’m not pissed.”

  “You were a little rude when we got back home tonight,” I remind her. “Had to remind you to say thank you to Aaron for driving us.”

  “I’m surprised you even noticed I was there, the way you were hanging all over him and ignoring me.”

  My eyes get big and offended. “What is your problem? You were the one who said it was okay for him to come with us in the first place.”

  “That was before I knew he was your boyfriend and everything.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, wondering if that is exactly what he is and if I have been too preoccupied to notice him slipping into the role.

  “I saw you kiss him, so that means he’s not just your friend. I don’t like him.”

  “Has he done something to you? Said something out of the way to you?”

  “No . . . I just don’t like him.”

  “And you don’t have a reason?”

  “Nope.”

  Too many years of dealing with women and the myriad attitudes that come along with them tires me out. Beige isn’t yet a woman, but she will be one day, and she is practicing all the techniques she will stock her arsenal with on me right now. She avoids my eyes, lifts her chin in the air and sniffs disdainfully. She crosses her arms under her breasts, props an ankle on the opposite knee and starts her foot to tapping the air. She opens her mouth to say something and catches herself. She remembers she is still a child, not equipped to deal with me on my level, and even if she were equipped, she would be crossing a line that she is afraid to cross. The realization renders her mute.

  I
put up my hands in surrender and move away from the television. “I’m taking a shower. Can you thaw out long enough to come and talk to me?”

  “Who comes in there with you when I’m not here?”

  “I lock the door,” I snap. “You know what? Forget it, okay? I’ll save you some hot water.” I cannot believe we are arguing, cannot understand exactly what we are arguing about, and the more I think about it, the less I care about the particulars. She is about to make me lose the religion I never had.

  I leave the bathroom door standing open so I can hear her if she decides to talk, and I break records soaping and rinsing myself. I drop a gown over my head, wrap my locks in a scarf and find Beige still sitting on the futon, looking mutinous.

  “Did you call the pizza in?”

  “No, I called Vicky to come and get me,” she informs me curtly. “She’s on her way.”

  “You’re not spending the night with me?”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Oh, so now I’m on punishment, Bey? What kind of shit is this?”

  “You really want to be with him anyway, so I might as well go home.”

  “This is your home too.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s only big enough for you. You picked it out all by yourself.”

  I take a deep breath and count to ten. Look at her and feel my shoulders slump in defeat. I have forgotten how to beg—and good riddance. “What is this really about, Beige?”

  “If this is my home too, then why don’t I have a room here and why didn’t you get a place big enough for both of us?”

  “I got what I could afford at the time. I guess I could get something bigger now, but I like this neighborhood.”

  “And Aaron is right downstairs.”

  “We’re back on that.” I pace the floor and scrub a hand down my face. “You don’t want me to have friends? Is that what the issue is?”

  “It’s supposed to be just you and me.” Her eyes fly up to mine and lock in. “This is supposed to be my time with you, but it’s not. I come second to everything else in your life and I should be first. You should be all about me right now, not having a boyfriend.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say, pointing a finger. “Last weekend I wanted you to come over and you couldn’t because you had a thing you absolutely couldn’t miss. I wanted to take you shopping the other day and you blew me off then too. It’s okay for you to have a whole other life that doesn’t include me, but it’s not okay for me to have friends? It’s okay for you to tell people that I was dead, but I neglect to mention you to someone and I get put on your shit list? You’re being immature, Beige. And unfair.