You Make Me Wanna

by Nikki Rashan

  “You’re going to make it bad just by thinking it’s going to be bad, Kyla. Stop it.”

  And when I asked how she felt about attending Jeff’s wedding, she grabbed and shook my behind. “I’ll show him who’s hittin’ this ass now.” She laughed.

  Asia may have comprehended my discomfort more clearly had I been more open with the details of the conversation I had with my mother. Instead, I conveyed the message to her that my mother was “fine” with my bringing her home with me, leaving off, “If that’s the way you want it,” followed by a sharp click of the phone. My daddy, on the other hand, welcomed my visit and the opportunity to meet the woman who stole my heart once and for all.

  Asia was to meet me on Christmas Eve, four days after my arrival home. That provided me time to spend with my baby niece, whose birth I missed as she entered the world healthy, yet three weeks premature. Gladyce Marie was the five-pound one-ounce blessing to Yvonne and Byron on December 1st. I had to ask Yvonne why she would torture the child by naming her Gladyce in the year 2003. Her response was that after years of cute names like Amber, Nicole, and Brittney, it was time to bring back the strong and bold old-school names, and of all names to choose, she opted for Gladyce, after our mom. It was that or Aretha, after Byron’s grandmother.

  “Yes, Kyla,” LALA said, taking a seat in front of my desk.

  “Hey, Amy,” I said, reaching for a stack of folders. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” she answered, pulling at her Barbie-blondestreaked hair.

  Briefly I debated on whether or not to press her and see if I could be of any help, but I decided against it, when I remembered that equally lazy-ass boyfriend she allowed to lay up on her couch.

  “Good. Here are all the reports you’ll need while I’m gone. It’s all laid out for you in order. Inside each folder is a memo detailing exactly what should happen with each item mentioned inside and a list of all order numbers and contacts. Everything is all set for delivery. I just need you to follow up, if needed, and resolve any issues that may arise. Does this sound all right for you, Amy?”

  “Sure, Kyla. I’ve been doing this job for quite some time. I know what it is you do.”

  I know she wasn’t getting smart, was she? “I want to make sure you’ve got this, Amy. I’ve never left during the busiest time of the year.”

  “I can handle it,” she said, standing up. “By the way, if all goes smoothly, which it will, can you pass that info on to Gary? I think I’m about due for a promotion.”

  A promotion? I don’t think so. People really grew balls when they were hard up for money. “Yes, I’ll talk to him.”

  Satisfied, she left the office with an armful of folders and paperwork.

  Good. Maybe this was just the opportunity she needed to get on top of her job. About damn time.

  “What about these?” Asia asked, holding up my leopard-print undies.

  “Perfect. I’ll save them for when you get there.” I grinned.

  “Can’t wait,” she said, continuing to search through my underwear drawer. “What are you wearing to the wedding? I need to find something for you to wear underneath.”

  From my closet I pulled out my already packed garment bag and unzipped it, revealing a black-and-rouge Nicole Miller evening gown, with a scoop neckline that displayed my still firm cleavage. Satin strapped heels, ruby earrings, and a ruby pendant necklace would complement the stunning garment.

  I hoped Asia didn’t feel I was overdoing it, but I knew I had to knock the socks off everyone’s feet at the reception. Not only had the wedding date been kept hidden from me, but so had the details of Jeff’s fiancée number two: the biracial daughter of the CEO of a well-established luxury automobile franchise, whose fair skin, dyed blonde hair and fat wallet allowed her access into the most prominent social clubs, parties, and organizations in the city. Her African American mother, who spent her days at the spa for pampering, and evenings dining at elegant restaurants, raised and prepped her daughter for the same lavish lifestyle. I was surprised Jeff had selected such a bourgeois bride, considering his humble upbringing. But if he’d found happiness, I wasn’t going to question it.

  “You’ll blow them away. Now I know just what to bring.”

  “I love you so much for doing this with me.” I gave her a peck on her cheek.

  “I want to do this with you. See your home, meet your family, and see all that aided in molding you into the Kyla you are today.”

  “I couldn’t do this without you.”

  “Yes, you could.” She squeezed my hand. “But you don’t have to.”

  “You’re the sweetest.”

  “I know. You’re lucky as hell.” She laughed.

  My cell phone cut short the liplock we shared, and there was no guessing who was interrupting my final evening with Asia for four long days.

  “What’s up, Kia?” I answered.

  “Girl, girl, girl,” she mumbled into the phone.

  “What?” I whispered back.

  “Girl,” she repeated.

  “What?” I asked, losing my hushed tone.

  “It was sooooo good. Oh my God!”

  “Well, damn! What happened?”

  “I can’t really tell you right now,” she said, clearing her throat as a hint.

  “Shanna’s still there?”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” she said lustfully.

  “Call me in the morning then, while I’m at the airport, okay.”

  Kia giggled and then covered up the phone. Through the muffled sounds, I heard her say, “I’ll be right there. Oooh, I can’t wait.”

  “Bye, Kia,” I hollered into the phone.

  “Oh, right.” She laughed. “Okay, bye, Kyla.”

  “She did the deed,” I announced to Asia as I flipped my phone shut.

  “Good for her. All those years of pent-up sexual energy. Can you imagine what kind of release that is?”

  Briefly I was back to the Bahamas, leaned against the wall, my heart thumping in my chest while slowly being undressed by Steph, her hazel eyes locked onto mine, her fingers removing the straps to my dress.

  “Kyla!”

  “Yes, yes, I can imagine what it’s like,” I said, quickly snapping out of my dreamy state. “Hey, it’s eleven. You still want to watch a movie?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “No. Come here.”

  I dropped to my knees in front of her while she sat on the bed. “Yes,” I said, like a kid about to be punished.

  “Why so many trips down memory lane, Ky? I’m here now. Did you think I didn’t catch that daydream at the Waffle House? Why do you fall back into the past so easily?”

  Shit. My old tricks weren’t going to work with Asia. Was I still living in the past? Was my anxiety about seeing Jeff and flashbacks of Steph translating into a longing for what once was? Surely there was no going back, so why was I reminiscing about lost love?

  “Kyla,” she said, irritation and concern in her voice.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” I responded. “I don’t wish to be anywhere but here. Not with Jeff and not with Steph, only with you.”

  “I’m trying to support you by going home with you. Don’t get there and then act like you don’t want to come back with me.”

  Why was I so gifted at making those I cared about doubt my feelings for them? Because I always give them a reason to. “Don’t say that, Asia. You know I’m in love with you.”

  “If you’re going to be in love with me, you can’t be missing the ones you used to love. That shit doesn’t fly with me.”

  Unable to defend my irresponsible and impulsive thoughts, I replied softly, “It won’t happen again.”

  “Good. Now get up so we can watch that movie.”

  And I obliged like an obedient pet.

  CHAPTER 6

  A Trip Home

  As I sat in the airport waiting to board a plane, I was talking on the phone with Nakia, who was telling me every detail of her experience with Shanna. “I never knew, I
never knew.” She laughed. “I see why you’re a lesbian.”

  “Oh, hell yeah! Never go back either,” I responded quickly. “So let me get this straight. You met at the restaurant, ate lunch in an hour, and were in your apartment right after that?”

  “Yep. She’s even more attractive than her picture, and she’s sexy as hell, Kyla. We couldn’t get through the meal fast enough. It was just like you see in the movies, girl. When we got to my place, we started taking each other’s clothes off right at the door. She was aggressive, but so gentle, just like I imagined a woman to be. She did all kinds of stuff to me first, and I can’t lie and say I wasn’t nervous when she asked me to go down on her. I had no idea what to do.”

  My mind flashed back to Sharon, and I prayed Nakia wasn’t that bad.

  “She was so cool about it though. She told me what felt good and how to move my tongue, and even though it took a long time, she did come.”

  “That made you feel good, didn’t it?”

  “I can’t even explain it. Men come all the time so easily, and they’re usually controlling it, so it’s not that big of a deal. But to feel a woman get wet and see her body shake and shiver was fucking mind-blowing. I see why men are always trying to get in our panties, ’cause the shit is the bomb.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I caught myself just as memories of my first time with Steph crept into my mind.

  “I have to ask you this because I’m just too curious,” Nakia started. “Um, do all women taste the same?”

  I started laughing so hard that several others waiting at my gate looked my way and even chuckled at my amusement.

  “All right, I’m going to assume that was a dumb question.”

  “I’m sorry, girl. It just reminded me of some of the crazy questions I used to ask Stephanie, that’s all.” I wiped my eyes with my fingertip. “To answer your question, no, all women don’t taste the same. What makes you ask?”

  “Honestly, I was a little thrown off when I first went down there. I didn’t know what to expect. Not like it was bad, because it wasn’t at all. But it was kinda bitter at first, like licking real, real salty grits.”

  “Kia, grits? I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “That’s probably not a good description, but that’s all I can think of right now.”

  “Well, every woman is different, just depends on her chemistry.”

  “It got better though. And after she came she got real, real wet, but it tasted good.”

  “Yeah, that’s the good part,” I said, just as I heard the gate attendant begin calling for boarding.

  “Is that you?”

  “Yep, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon as I get back, okay. Enjoy your time with Shanna.”

  “Oh, you know I will!” She giggled. “But, girl, my tongue is sore as hell today. How long is this going to last?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, it’s tiring at first. You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.”

  “Good. ’Cause I definitely want to try going down on her again.”

  “Enough, Kia, okay! Have fun.”

  When I hung up the phone, I gathered my purse, carry-on, and boarding pass and prepared to meet my family on the opposite end of my flight. Before takeoff I quickly called Asia to wish her a good day. She insisted that I kiss her through the phone prior to saying good-bye.

  The elder couple next to me thought it was sweet. “Was that your boyfriend?” the smiling, brown-skinned, gray-haired woman asked.

  “Um, no, it wasn’t.”

  “Oh, your son or daughter?”

  “No, I don’t have any children.”

  Visibly I could see their minds twirling, wondering if I would smooch my mother or father or aunt or uncle through the phone. Both the old lady and old man leaned forward, kind curiosity in their eyes. I didn’t want to say I was lip-smacking my girlfriend over the phone for fear of their response. Perhaps they were old-fashioned and conservative, not in agreement with same-sex relationships. Or maybe I was assuming and judging them incorrectly; for all I knew, they could have an adult gay child or grandchild themselves.

  “I was just, uh, saying good-bye to someone special,” I offered.

  The elderly woman was pleased. She patted my hand and gave her husband a warm glance. He leaned his face to his wife’s forehead and kissed her with wrinkled lips.

  I could only imagine the strength and love in their union after so many years. I closed my eyes and imagined me and Asia forty years into the future, traveling on a plane to some unknown destination, still joyfully in love and happy with one another.

  When I awoke, the couple was still engaged in a tender conversation as the plane rolled down the runway.

  My entire family was there to greet me just past the security checkpoint when I arrived at Mitchell International. My mother, father, sister, Byron, baby Gladyce, and Aunt Shari stood behind the guarded terminal with visible anticipation. As I approached the ramp, it felt to me more like a tunnel taking me back into a time and a place I had stored away in the corner of my mind.

  Temporarily in shock by my three-inch camel-color suede boots and matching coat, Louis Vuitton carry-on, auburn-highlighted hair, and polished makeup, my mother covered her gaped mouth with her glove-covered hand.

  No, I no longer looked like I was from the Midwest.

  Flurries of panic were cast aside upon seeing Yvonne glowing and basking in motherhood, holding baby Gladyce’s hand and waving it at me. Bundled in a pink Eskimo snowsuit with a furry hood, all I could see was baby Gladyce’s fat, rosy cheeks, teeny nose, closed eyes, and drooling lips. Overwhelmed with confirmation that I was “Aunt Kyla,” I blinked back the tears that surfaced in the corners of my eyes.

  Quickly I hugged Byron and Aunt Shari. An initial icy hug heated to lukewarm within seconds from my mom.

  Anxious for my father’s comfort, I sank into his arms and exhaled in his tender hold.

  “I missed you pumpkin,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

  “I missed you too.” I pecked him on the cheek.

  “Yvonne, she’s beautiful.” I reached for baby Gladyce. I instantly fell spellbound, inhaling the scent of milk and baby lotion, and mesmerized by the peaceful way she sucked in air and released it from her slightly parted lips. “Beautiful,” I repeated. “You did well,” I said to Yvonne and Byron.

  “How was your flight, baby?” my mom asked as we walked to claim my luggage.

  I couldn’t wait to see the expression on her face when she discovered the luggage matched my carry-on. “It was all right. I read most of the way.”

  “Oh, what are you reading?”

  “The autobiography of E. Lynn Harris.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s an author. Never mind,” I said, not wanting to turn the conversation “gay” already.

  Yvonne looked at me sideways and shook her head, obviously disappointed by my avoidance of the topic. Aunt Shari, familiar with the famous author by reading all of David’s hot-off-the-press copies, gently rested her hand on my mother’s arm before she began to protest my resistance to elaborate.

  Riding home in my dad’s newly purchased Navigator (Did he buy it from Julie’s dad? I wondered) eased the mounting tension, since I was able to sit up front with him, close my eyes, and pretend to catch a short nap while we drove the familiar route to my mom’s house.

  Please, God, don’t let this trip be a disaster. Without the designer clothes and hardened attitude, I’m still Kyla underneath. Don’t they see that?

  Noticing a wince on my face during my prayer for a peaceful trip, my dad reached across the wide console between us and gave me a comforting squeeze to my shoulder. Roused from a phony sleep, I opened my eyes to his empathetic gaze.

  “I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow,” he said.

  I smiled and nodded my head.

  Cries erupted from the back seat when we rolled over the hump in the ground leading to my mom’s driveway.

  “She cries every time we hit that
bump.” Yvonne soothed murmurs into baby Gladyce’s covered-up ears.

  “You know I’ll babysit anytime,” I said.

  Like a needle scratching over a record, putting an unexpected stop to the rhythm of a dancing crowd, a hush fell over the huge vehicle. Even baby Gladyce silenced her cry as if to say, Huh?

  “No, no, Kyla, that’s okay,” Yvonne said quickly. “We’re good. Thanks for the offer.”

  “Don’t be scared y’all,” I replied, understanding the not-so-subtle hint that they didn’t trust me with their most precious little one.

  “Kyla, when was the last time you took care of a baby?” Yvonne asked.

  “Same time you did before baby Gladyce.”

  She laughed, “Ha, ha!” Then she said, “Very funny. You got me.”

  “That’s all right though. I see how you are.”

  “Let’s just maximize our time together, and you can see Gladyce as much as you want to,” she said, politely easing her way out of leaving me alone with my niece.

  “Sure, whatever,” I said as I hopped to the ground from the monstrous truck.

  To my surprise, my dad didn’t stay. He waved good-bye and took off after helping me retrieve my luggage from the back. I wondered what was up with that. Even so many years after the divorce, he and my mom had remained constant figures in each other’s lives.

  Not much had changed on the interior of my mom’s home. Once again, the calm side of the teeter-totter rose to the occasion, and I felt all tightness loosen and my muscles relax when I rested on the cozy loveseat. No need to fret, Kyla. This is your family. These people love you regardless, right?

  “Baby, what do you want for dinner? Anything, sweetheart, and I’ll make it for you,” my mother offered from the chair facing me, a practiced smile threatening to crack her lightly applied foundation.

  Waves of sadness, love, concern, warmth, and scorn flashed through her eyes every two seconds. Why had my sexuality caused such an abundance of mixed emotions in my mother? It was my battle to fight, not hers. Why did she feel the need to carry the burden? Why did she have to see it as such a burden?