Spark of Desire ; All for You

by Sheryl Lister

Aria smiled. “She’s beautiful. But off-limits to you, homie.” Her phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out and rolled her eyes. “It’s my mom.”

  He busied himself sterilizing his equipment. “What does Mrs. Bell require of you now?”

  There was no love lost between her best friend and her mother. The two had never gotten along, most likely because Brent didn’t give a damn about appearances. Because of that, Elizabeth Bell had never ceased to point out all of Brent’s flaws to Aria.

  Aria waited until the phone stopped buzzing. “She invited me for Sunday dinner. I’ve been avoiding it.”

  “Somehow I’m not surprised.” The sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable.

  Her parents lived in the township of West Bloomfield, which was about thirty-five miles from Ann Arbor. It was also one of the most expensive places to live in the Detroit metropolitan area. Louis and Elizabeth Bell had successfully moved on up since their days in Inkster. After serving as Chief Judge for Inkster, her father had made the transition to the Michigan Court of Appeals. Currently, he was on the newly elected governor’s short list for the Michigan Supreme Court.

  Although Aria was proud of her father, the fervor surrounding his possible appointment had created a rift in the family. Long story short... Her mother wanted her father to go for it. Her father? He didn’t need the job to feel like a success. He’d worked hard all of his life and was ready to slow down a little.

  Aria spent a few minutes composing a text to her mother, deleting and retyping many times before she settled on the right wording. The last thing she wanted was to leave the door open for more communication. The simple one-line response, I’ll be over within the hour, should be sufficient enough.

  Once the text was sent, she dropped her phone back into her handbag. After walking over to the mirror, Aria reapplied her lipstick and ran her fingers through her curls. “It’s time I stop avoiding this.” She turned to him. “You wouldn’t want to come with me, would you?” She waggled her eyebrows.

  He shook his head. “Hell, no. But you can bring me back a plate. Especially if the cook makes that slappin’ chicken dish she made last time.”

  The Bell’s personal chef, Celeste, was one of Aria’s favorite people in the world. The older woman had been with their family since their Inkster days. Celeste had started as a part-time housekeeper and cook, and now lived with Aria’s parents.

  “I’ll be sure to sneak you a plate, okay?” Aria said, grabbing her purse and walking to the door. “I’ll call when I get home.”

  * * *

  “I want a divorce.”

  Aria met her father’s hard glare across the dinner table. Louis Bell hadn’t said anything during the stilted Sunday dinner, but she never expected those would be his first words.

  Her gaze traveled from him to her mother, who continued to spoon the tasteless macaroni and cheese onto her plate. Apparently, they’d given Celeste the night off, because dinner tasted like her mother’s bland cooking.

  Mrs. Elizabeth Bell had always been one to ignore the obvious, choosing to only focus on things that suited her own agenda. Aria had spent many of her childhood days and nights attending political fund-raisers and other high-society events in the state, giving fake smiles, playing hostess and shaking sweaty palms. She’d competed in beauty pageants, participated in cotillions and served on her mother’s auxiliary groups for various organizations. It was actually during one of those dreaded fund-raisers for the Detroit Institute of Arts that Aria discovered her love of visual art.

  “Did you hear me, Elizabeth?” Louis asked, setting his fork down on his plate. “This has gone on long enough. We’re not doing each other any favors.”

  Elizabeth shifted in her chair, picked up the bottle of merlot and nearly filled up her wineglass. It was the first sign that her mother was actually bothered by the turn of events. Because a lady never pours more than five ounces at a time into a wineglass. It was a lesson that had been instilled in Aria since she was old enough to pour wine.

  “Louis, this isn’t the right time to discuss this,” Elizabeth said.

  “When is the right time?” Louis pushed his plate away from him.

  Aria wondered the same thing. Her parents had faked happy couplehood for years. They’d been hanging on by a thin string since she’d turned Tween. Now, at thirty-one years old, she considered it a blessing that one of them wanted to end the charade.

  “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks,” her father continued. “And when I finally get you to agree to dinner, you invite Aria.”

  Aria frowned. “Dad, what are you talking about? Don’t you live here? Since when do you have to set a date to talk to Mom?”

  “I moved out three weeks ago, Aria.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? Why didn’t either of you say something?”

  Aria had talked to both of her parents multiple times in the past three-week period. At no point did either of them let on that they weren’t residing in the same house. Even when she’d arrived for dinner, nothing in the house seemed off or out of the ordinary. Both parents were seated in their normal spots, doing normal things—her father working in the office, her mother complaining about everything, neither of them acknowledging the other. Everything felt like it did since forever.

  Growing up in the Bell home had been pretty drab and dreary. Aria was extremely close to her father, but she had always clashed with her mother. For years, she’d hoped to get a little brother or sister, if for no other reason than it could have lightened her load or lessened the mound of expectations her mother had for her. She hadn’t been lucky in the sibling department, but she’d managed to make it through her childhood. Sure, she had a standing appointment with her therapist every first and third Friday of the month, but she had carved out her own niche in life.

  “Aria, can you give us a few minutes alone?” Her father asked, offering a sad smile. “I’ll explain everything later, sweetie.”

  “Okay.” Aria swallowed, dropped her napkin on the table. “I’m going to just head home.”

  “Stay right where you are, Aria,” Elizabeth ordered.

  The no-nonsense tone with which her mother always addressed her pissed her off most days. But Aria knew heartbreak when she heard it. It was written all over her mother’s face. And despite her own complicated relationship with her mother, she wanted to be sensitive to that. With a heavy sigh, Aria stood. “Mother, this is not a conversation I should be involved in. It’s between you and Dad. It’s best that I leave.”

  “No, you’re not leaving.” Elizabeth finished her wine and poured another healthy glass. “We’re having Sunday dinner as a family.”

  Another few minutes of tense silence followed, with Aria still standing and her parents glaring at each other. This isn’t awkward at all. “How about I go into the kitchen and give you two a minute?”

  Aria didn’t give her mother time to respond. She simply grabbed her plate and rushed into the kitchen, leaving her parents alone.

  It felt like the freakin’ twilight zone. Her parents rarely fought. Hell, they barely raised their voices around her. Yet, it wasn’t a shock her father wanted out.

  For several minutes, she didn’t hear a peep from the other room. No raised voices, no glass breaking, no furniture moving. In fact, it was so quiet she wondered if they were still in the dining room. A few minutes later, she heard a loud scream. The piercing sound startled her, and she jumped up from the bar stool she’d perched herself on and ran back into the dining room.

  Standing in the archway, with angry tears streaming down her flawless face, her mother yelled, “Get out of this house, Louis. You’ve made a fool of me.”

  Her father stepped forward, arms suspended in midair. Aria wondered if he would pull her mother into a hug, to comfort her. Instead, he let his arms fall to his side. “I’ve never been unfaithful, Elizabeth. I’ve always treated you with respect.
I’ve taken care of you. But I’m tired, Liz. I’m tired of coming home to a wife who doesn’t show me any type of affection unless we’re in public. I’m sick of begging you for quality time. We’ve lived in this loveless marriage for far too long. And I don’t want to do it any longer. Life is too short to waste it being unhappy.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” her mother said. “What will everyone think?”

  A tear fell down her father’s face, and Aria’s heart broke for him. “I had hoped that you would tell me that I was wrong, that you do love me, and that you want to work on this marriage for us. I guess that was too much to hope for.”

  The man in front of her had sacrificed so much for them, and all he wanted was the love of his wife. Her life would have been so different had it not been for her daddy, her personal dragon slayer. He’d bought her first set of paintbrushes, set up a makeshift studio in their attic, attended all of her shows and supported her in every way that mattered.

  Unable to hold herself back any longer, Aria ran to him and hugged him tightly. She hoped he could feel her love for him—she needed him to know that she cared about his feelings. When his arms finally wrapped around her, she knew he got it.

  “Love you, sweetie,” he murmured into her hair. “Love you so much.”

  “I love you more than all the pennies in the world, Daddy.” Aria’s eyes filled with tears. As a child, they’d have little “I love you” battles, each of them coming up with outlandish ways to quantify their love for each other.

  “I love you more than the grains of sand on every beach in the world.”

  She giggled. “I know.”

  “We’ll do lunch soon.”

  Nodding, she murmured against his shirt, “Okay.” He still smelled like a mixture of soap and trees. His scent was as comforting now as it was when he’d read to her until she fell asleep at night.

  He pulled back and pinched her cheek, like he’d done for as long as she could remember. Then, he turned to her silent mother. “Liz, you spend so much time wearing a mask, putting on a front to people I couldn’t care less about. I love you. I really do. But I want a divorce. My lawyer will be in touch.”

  Then he was gone.

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this,” Aria said after a moment. “I love you both.”

  Her mother tugged on her shirt and lifted her chin high. “No need to apologize. I expect you to still attend the fund-raising tea next Sunday at the club.”

  “No, I’m not going, Mother. Did you even hear Dad? Do you even care?”

  “This is between me and your father.”

  “You brought me into it when you invited me here for dinner, knowing that you had personal things to discuss with him.”

  “I can handle your father.”

  Aria crossed her arms. “Obviously, you can’t. He’s gone.”

  “He’ll be back.” Elizabeth let out a heavy sigh. “In the meantime, I see no reason you can’t still attend the tea. Everyone is expecting you.”

  Before Aria could protest further, her mother pivoted on her heels and walked out of the room without another word.

  Chapter 3

  Aria walked into the Afternoon Delight Café in downtown Ann Arbor and scanned the small but bustling dining area. When she spotted Mel seated in a corner booth, she headed over to her.

  “Hey,” Mel said with a wide grin.

  “What’s up?” Aria dropped her bag into the booth. “I’m glad you were able to find an empty booth. I’m starving. Be right back.”

  The popular café, famous for its omelets, huge pancakes, deli sandwiches and stellar service, was crowded as usual. On Saturdays, the line to get in often extended down three storefronts.

  Ann Arbor had grown since Aria used to sneak to town with Brent for the Top of the Park Summer Festival or the Ann Arbor Street Art Fair when they were teenagers. The art scene had always appealed to her, and she’d briefly considered attending University of Michigan for her undergraduate degree before she’d decided on New York University. The cultural and social atmosphere in the city was why she’d jumped at the chance to open up a business in the area. The rent was incredibly expensive, but there weren’t many places in the world that gave her the feeling of living in a city and a small town at the same time.

  Aria didn’t need to see a menu to know what she wanted. The Quiche Lorraine was calling her name. She walked up to the counter to place her order before rejoining Mel at the table. The server had just dropped off a plate of Eggs Benedict and raisin toast for Mel.

  “Looks delicious,” Aria said, placing a hand over her grumbling stomach. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours.” Technically, she hadn’t had a meal since yesterday morning. Yesterday, she’d held a private party for a group of adorable little ten-year-old girls and then spent the rest of her day in the studio, finishing up her latest painting and organizing the space.

  “Girl, we’ve gone over this before. If you can’t remember to eat on your own, set an alarm on your phone. Use the technology available to you.” Mel took a bite of her food and groaned. She pointed her fork at her plate. “I swear, I always expect my food to be bad one day and it never is.”

  “I know,” Aria agreed. “I haven’t had a bad meal here yet. And I come here at least once a week.”

  They laughed. It felt good to meet a friend for breakfast. Art was such a solitary task that Aria used to go days without talking to another human being, especially during the first few years after she’d graduated from college. Aside from Brent, she’d never really been good at maintaining friendships. During college, she’d been cool with her roommate, but once she moved out into her own space, communication between them slowed down and eventually stopped. Yes, she’d met wonderful people, talented artists, but she was hard-pressed to think of someone who had made a lasting impression or connection to her. Brent had been spot-on when he’d encouraged her to accept Avery’s initial invitation to dinner and a movie all those months ago.

  The waitress set Aria’s quiche down on the table several minutes later and refilled their coffee mugs. While they ate, they chatted about a little bit of everything, from sports to fashion to hair color. When Aria first started attending the ladies-night-out group, she’d immediately bonded with Mel. The youngest Jackson sibling was set to move to New York City and attend Aria’s alma mater for graduate school. They’d spent a lot of time talking about the city, the social scene and the university.

  Aria was happy for Mel. It took a lot of guts to leave the safety net of family and friends to start something new. But she knew Mel was up to the challenge.

  “So, I’m admittedly nervous,” Mel confessed. “September is not that far off, Aria. What if I can’t hack it?”

  “Stop, Mel. If I could survive and thrive at the age of eighteen, you can at twenty-three. Besides, you have everything you need to make it in the city—money, a support system, intelligence and common sense. The rest will fall into place.”

  Laughing, Mel said, “You’re funny. But you’re right. I do have all those things.” Mel had mentioned a close family friend who lived in the city had offered to hold an apartment in a new development for her. She’d already won half the battle. Finding an affordable and nice residence was a huge victory.

  “I’m excited for you. And I’ll definitely come and crash at your pad when I have to go back for work.”

  “Definitely.” Mel doctored her new cup of coffee, adding two creams and three sugars. “Speaking of work... Are you excited about the exhibit in a few weeks?”

  She nodded. “And nervous.”

  “I think it’s pretty kick-ass, though. I can’t wait to see your collection.”

  Aria made it a point to keep her work private until it was time to show. The only person she ever shared works in progress with was Brent. Her experience with Holloway had left a sour taste i
n her mouth when it came to sharing her art.

  “It’s my most personal work to date. I poured everything into it.”

  The Metamorphosis was a study in black female identity. She wanted women to see themselves in her work, to identify with her own struggle to rise above adversity. Aria had used techniques she’d learned during her undergraduate curriculum, her master of fine arts, her sabbatical to South Africa and her time in Paris. The collection included acrylic and oil painting as well as images made using other nontraditional materials such as felts and glitter. The centerpiece of the exhibit was her best painting, the self-portrait she’d created four years ago. The thought of showing something so personal terrified her, but she’d held that work in her private studio for years and it felt timely and necessary and poignant to include it.

  “I love when you talk about your art, Aria.” Mel smiled at the restaurant employee who’d just appeared to take away their plates. “You get this glow in your eyes. I want to feel like that about something that I created.”

  She studied her friend. “Is that why you didn’t go to medical school like your father wanted?”

  “That, and I hate blood.” She giggled. “I’ve never been able to stomach the hospital. I don’t like needles, and I’m a big crybaby. There’s no way I’d be able to tell a patient that they were going to die. The paramedics would have to carry me out on a stretcher the first time one of my patients passed away.”

  Mel had shared a little about her family trajectory to med school and her decision to not follow in her father’s footsteps. From what Aria gathered, Mel’s father was a control freak who didn’t take kindly to his children forging their own paths. It was something she could relate to because of her own mother.

  It had been over a week since her father’s divorce proclamation and her mother had yet to bring it up again. She really was hell-bent on denying it had ever happened, in typical Elizabeth Bell fashion. Aria had joined her father for dinner last night at his new house. For the first time since she could remember, her father seemed at peace in his space. She could tell he was still heartbroken, but his resolve was strong. He’d made a decision and he would stick to it. And her mother would continue to mask her pain and relationship woes to the public.