You Make Me Wanna

by Nikki Rashan

  Asia and I gave each other a this-is-it look as we walked through the garage door into the kitchen. My mom was busy inside making homemade eggnog when we walked in.

  “We’re here,” I said.

  For someone who would be spending the day preparing Christmas dinner, cleaning and decorating her home for guests, my mom had put extra effort into her appearance. Still looking fabulous in her early fifties, she was wearing maroon slacks and a cream sweater, her face full of makeup, and her hair smoothly pulled back into a bun. Her intent to look put-together for Asia was obvious. Even her favorite apron hung on its hook against the storage cabinet, a place it rarely visited, considering how much she loved cooking in her kitchen.

  I gave my mom a tight hug, and when she released me, I said, “Mom, this is Asia.” I turned to Asia’s smiling face.

  “Hello, Ms. Thomas. It’s very nice to meet you,” Asia said, extending her hand.

  After the swiftest, almost inconspicuous once-over, my mother took Asia’s hand in hers and squeezed. Yielding to Asia’s seducing charm, she sighed a sweet concession and then smiled. Whether it was Asia’s irresistible aura, or the sentimental outpour of feelings shared when my mom had crept into my room the previous night, whatever it was, her welcoming arms accepted Asia into her life.

  Just as I was falling asleep the night before, my mother had told me, “I love you, Kyla. There’s nothing you could ever do that will ever change that.”

  “I love you too, Ma. You have to know that none of this was done to hurt you. I had to follow what my heart was telling me.”

  “I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t make the decision without believing you were doing the best thing for you. I wish I had been more supportive to you, Kyla, but it took a while for me to adjust. Just know that I’m here for you now.”

  I smiled. “Asia’s made this whole journey worth it.”

  “If she makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.”

  An overwhelming sense of serenity soared through my body, my eyes brimming with appreciative tears. Nearly three years of turbulent emotions of worry, abandonment, confusion, and lack of understanding between my mother and I flew out of the window in a moment’s time, and for that, I was so grateful.

  She rubbed her fingers against my face and stroked my skin, humming a song until I fell asleep, just as she did when I was a child.

  The kitchen was scattered with cooking items and utensils. “You need some help?” I asked

  “I got this in here just fine, but sit down and talk to me for a while,” Mom said, gesturing toward the sitting area.

  Asia and I took seats at the oval table and watched my mother add various ingredients into a mixing bowl.

  “You had a good flight, Asia?” Ma asked.

  “Yes, thank you, it was nice. Next to me was this nice woman coming into town to visit her children for the holiday, and I was telling her this was my first visit to the city. Aside from the winter snow, she had the nicest things to say about Milwaukee. She said the summers are pretty nice.”

  “Oh, yes, they are,” my mom said, agreeing with Asia’s flight mate. “There are all sorts of things to do around here. Festivals at the lake and concerts in the park. One summer Kyla took me to an outdoor jazz picnic, and we had such a good time, didn’t we, Kyla?”

  “Yes, we sure did,” I answered, recalling the sweltering day my mom and I sat on a blanket drinking wine and munching on cheese and crackers and listening to the tunes of a smooth jazz band.

  “You’ll have to come back in the summer.” Ma smiled.

  Asia and I exchanged soft looks between one another.

  “Definitely.”

  We continued with small talk, my mom asking about Asia’s family, job, and hobbies. My mom was surprised when Asia mentioned that one of her favorite ways to unwind was knitting small quilts.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I actually made one for baby Gladyce as a Christmas gift. I hope Yvonne likes it.”

  “Asia, that was so sweet of you.” Ma walked to Asia and give her a quick rub on her shoulder.

  “Thank you. I sent one home to my mom too. She said she likes to lounge around the house with one wrapped around her shoulders.”

  “Precious . . . just precious. I think the last gift Kyla made for me was a warped pottery cup in the third grade.” She laughed.

  “Oh my God! Mom used that as the candy dish for years!”

  “I still have it somewhere.” She began looking through the cabinets.

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’m not as talented with my hands as Asia.”

  My mind wandered to Asia’s fingers and the phenomenally skillful ways they pleased my body. Just sitting there and observing her fingers clasped together in her lap turned me on.

  “Well, girls,” my mom began, linking us together as she always did with Yvonne and I, “you two can go ahead and start working on the decorations.”

  “Will do,” I said, giving my mother a quick peck to her cheek.

  Grabbing hold of Asia’s hand, I led her from the kitchen, once turning around to my mom, whose eyes were focused on the firm clasp of Asia’s hand in mine. When our eyes met, once again, unspoken words conveyed silent messages of mutual respect and support.

  Late that night, after the gifts had been wrapped, the last piece of garland was hung, and a dozen batches of cookies were baked, I lay comfortably wrapped around Asia’s body in our dimly lit hotel suite while she played in my hair. We opted to stay in a hotel room instead of my mom’s house, out of respect. We wanted to spend intimate time with one another and didn’t want to stretch my mom’s acceptance too greatly.

  “One down, four to go,” Asia said, referring to the number of days before Jeff’s wedding.

  “I’m not even worried about that anymore.”

  “No? What brought on this newfound confidence?”

  I let them go, I thought to myself, reminiscing about the therapeutic dream I had. “I really needed to take this trip home. Had I known confronting my fears would have eased the relationship with my mom, I wouldn’t have waited so long to come back. I feel like I can conquer the world now.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’m taking you home next,” she said, twirling my hair around her finger.

  I blushed. “You are, are you?”

  “Yeah, girl, you’re not the only person who wants to show off.”

  “Oh, is that what I’m doing?”

  “Yup. You know they don’t make women like me in the Midwest.” Asia laughed. “Besides you, of course.” She kissed my heated skin.

  “You better fix that.” I turned over quickly to pin her underneath me. Leaning forward, I took one of her nipples between my teeth.

  “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

  “I know. Who told your period to come?”

  “Stop pouting. It’ll be gone by Saturday. Then I’ll let you have some, if you’re good.”

  “Okay. But in the meantime . . .” I slipped out of my cotton pajama bottoms.

  Asia grinned. “I got the hint.” She adjusted her head comfortably on the pillow.

  My fingers gripped the headboard as Asia took hold of my waist and, from underneath me, guided my hips to her waiting lips.

  Once word traveled that cousin Kyla, niece Kyla, or Gladyce and Richard’s daughter had brought home her lesbian girlfriend from Atlanta, my mom’s home was inhabited with a constant stream of relatives and friends that normally weren’t visitors on Christmas. Second cousins, Jennifer and Jeremy, a rowdy set of twenty-one-year-old twins, followed Asia and I around as if we were a scientific experiment, asking questions, analyzing our responses, and conjuring up a follow-up hypothesis for our review, confirmation, or dismissal.

  “Asia, did you date men before Kyla?” Jeremy asked, somewhat hopeful, infatuated with Asia.

  “Well, not right before Kyla, but a long time ago, yes.”

  They put their heads together and came to a swift resolve that all lesbians dated men be
fore dating women. To be sure, they asked.

  “No, that’s not the case,” I answered, even though many of the lesbians I knew had dated boys back in high school, if only to appease a parent. “Some lesbians have never dated men.”

  “Have you ever been cheated on by a woman, Asia?” Jenny asked.

  Asia’s eyes grew twice their size. “Why do you ask that?” She attempted to conceal her annoyance.

  Jenny rolled her eyes in her brother’s direction. “Just curious if girls cheat the way so many men do.”

  Asia looked at me like, Get these two the hell away from me.

  “Yes, women cheat too,” I answered.

  “Really?” Jeremy asked. “All women?”

  “No, not all women, but if you mean, Do straight and gay women cheat? yes, some of them do.”

  “So that means women don’t date women just to get away from cheating men? I mean, women who used to date men go to women because their man cheated on them, right? At least that’s what one of my roommates told me.”

  I prayed I didn’t say shit this stupid to Stephanie. “No.”

  Again, they put their heads together.

  “Right, right,” Jeremy said. “Jeff didn’t cheat on you, did he?”

  I gave them both my best squinted evil eye and didn’t answer the question.

  “Okay,” Jenny said. “Well, Asia, are you from Atlanta?”

  Asia sighed. “No, I’m from Dallas.”

  After learning that Asia was originally from Texas, they then determined that Atlanta was the lesbian capital of the country and that all gay women must flee their hometowns to a safe haven called Atlanta.

  “Excuse us,” I said, taking Asia by the waist and leading her to the kitchen for a wine refill. I nearly tripped over the feet of Justine, the fearless twins’ mom. She may have been the instigator, since she did little to prevent the interrogation as she sat on the couch surveying the entire exchange.

  Aunt Minny, estranged cousin to my mother, was as vulgar and ferocious as they come. Even as we devoured our individual heaping plates of my mom’s cooking, Aunt Minny yelled across three heads and across the table, “So just what is it that lesbians do?”

  Our attempt at laughing off her inappropriate question didn’t put an end to the topic either.

  “I need muscle!” she howled. “I need strength! I need somebody to hit it from the front and the back, not some soft-ass titties against mine!” She took a sip from her flask.

  “Minny! That’s enough,” my mother insisted.

  Finally I understood why Aunt Minny was seldom invited to family gatherings.

  Seeking temporary escape from the insanity soaring through the household, I crept into the bathroom just outside the staircase leading to the second level. With my eyes closed, I leaned against the sink for a breather.

  Arms around my waist and a light grind from behind brought a sensuous smile to my face. Responding to the delightful touch, I swerved my hips against the body pressed into mine and reached to caress the hand that was seductively ready to grab me between my legs. Noticing the thickness of the flesh behind me and the decorated, claw-like nails on the fingers of the hand attempting to molest me, my eyes shots open. Lustful eyes and a devious smile peered through the mirror, smugly admiring the hand approaching my crotch.

  “What the fuck?” I growled, impulsively jamming my elbow into Shanice’s plump belly.

  Shanice, Aunt Minny’s twice-divorced daughter and mother of five, had inherited her mother’s crassness, but apparently not her heterosexual integrity.

  Heaved over, she gasped for air. “We’re-second-cousins,” she explained between breaths.

  “Second cousins, my ass!” I stepped past her, leaving her to regain a steady flow of air on her own.

  Had there not been a brighter side to the eventful day, I may have been on the edge of insanity after the meeting with my incest-driven cousin. Catrina, David’s sister and the closest of my cousins, next to David, treated Asia like they had known each other a lifetime, even introducing her to Brianna, her eleven-year-old daughter, as “Auntie Asia.”

  “You’re pretty,” Brianna sweetly told Asia.

  “So are you, little lady.”

  Brianna leaned into her mom’s waist and blushed. Having David as a brother and an uncle to Brianna, Catrina was most gracious in understanding the bridges Asia and I were attempting to cross that day.

  On more than one occasion, John, Catrina’s husband of fifteen years, cleverly intervened with witty comebacks when Aunt Minny’s incessant inquiries of the details of lesbian bedroom activities would not cease. “You must want a little bit, Miss Minny,” he’d said, “since you keep talking about it.”

  When he noticed Shanice trailing several seconds behind me from the bathroom, short of breath and wincing in pain, his eyes gleamed with laughter.

  Yvonne and Byron were awed by Asia’s good-natured personality, laughing and chatting with her about some of my and Yvonne’s childhood stories, and taking helpful nursing tips from Asia about sleeping habits for baby Gladyce.

  I was tickled pink when Yvonne passed baby Gladyce to Asia’s arms within minutes of meeting. To me she whispered, “Let Asia hold the baby, Ky.” It was the most pleasant insult I had ever received.

  Asia took that opportunity to meet many of my other family members as they all gathered around baby Gladyce to admire her red velvet dress with matching elastic bow around her tiny, almost-bald head. She eyed each new stranger cautiously, and soon tired of the attention and wailed for her parents.

  Aunt Shari, just as impressed with Asia’s smooth integration into the family, took me aside to hug and congratulate me on finding someone whose love for me shined with each endearing smile she sent my way. Trapped in her embrace, my head nestled in her double D bosom, I temporarily lost the ability to inhale and exhale. But what a fine way to suffocate, by the loving squeeze of a relative.

  By far, the most treasured moment came when Asia and I exchanged gifts in the midst of family members, just after Yvonne and Byron opened their presents from each other.

  Sitting on the edge of the chair in which Aunt Shari sat, my mom proudly announced, “Asia and Kyla,” as if daring Aunt Minny or any of the other nosy, intrusive relatives to protest our open relationship.

  Just three short winters ago, I had sat in the same living room, aching in pain, yet drowning in love by the man who’d asked for my hand in marriage. Prior to that occasion, never had I imagined that in terms of the length of a lifetime, would I, such a short time later, be in the same room, thanking the lady love of my life for the much-needed Coach briefcase, whose fresh leather scent permeated the air.

  “I love it,” I said, giving her a brief hug after I sifted the compartments of the case.

  In exchange, I granted her with a cashmere sweater in pale pink, a softer shade of a similar burnt orange sweater she had admired in my closet just a month before.

  “Now we can be twins.” She giggled.

  “That would be cute. I used to dress Kyla and Yvonne like twins,” my mom reminisced.

  “Don’t worry, Asia’s just playing,” I said, before my mom could ask me to send her pictures of Asia and I dressed alike.

  The rest of the gifts were exchanged for those guests with presents, with most gifts given to baby Gladyce. Yvonne and Byron were stunned that Asia had taken the time to make a quilt for her, thanking her repeatedly for her thoughtfulness.

  I hadn’t been able to wait until Christmas to give my niece all of the pink clothing items and baby toys I had purchased for her before work, during lunch, and again on my way out of the store on so many days.

  Later, as candles fluttered in their last breaths and wine buzzes fizzled, the atmosphere quieted as we relaxed and enjoyed an encore presentation of It’s a Wonderful Life—always the uplifting reminder that a life trial is supreme to no life at all.

  It reminded me of a story David had shared with me many years earlier about a friend of his who caved d
uring his coming out process. His friend’s family had immediately banished him, damning him to hell for his desire to love another man. Without the support of his mother and father, he felt no will to live and took his own life by way of three bottles of over-the-counter pills. I wondered what would have become of the man if only he had realized that it does get better.

  Throughout the movie, undetected caresses were stolen while Asia and I settled under the fleece blanket on the loveseat. A small river of tears escaped when George and Mary were blessed with the generosity of friends and townspeople. Did I use to cry this much? Perhaps my tears were a release of the tidal wave of emotions I felt throughout the day.

  “Aww, babe.” Asia quietly kissed my fingertips, salty from wiping my eyes.

  My mom watched the public display of affection with fondness, afterward turning her head upward to the ceiling and closing her eyes, as if deleting all previously held freeze-frames of Jeff and I and storing this visual memory in a new file in her head.

  Aside from the mendable pricks and thorns throughout the day, in my favorite dreams I couldn’t have asked for a better first Christmas with Asia. A small group of determined tears rolled through my already damp mascara and fell onto Asia’s hand.

  Looking at me, her own eyes colored red and wet, she rubbed the tear until it absorbed into her skin, a symbolic gesture that my tears were her tears, and what I felt, she felt as well.

  We were, after all, a merging of two souls into one perfect union.

  CHAPTER 7

  Letting Go

  Damn, Kyla! How cold does it get up here?” Asia shrieked as frosty wind bit our cheeks while we ran from our rented Cadillac STS toward the hotel revolving door after grabbing a fast-food breakfast nearby.

  The rented sparkling silver sedan was our attempt to travel to and from Jeff ‘s wedding in style. My dad’s fiancée, Evelyn, who attended church with a woman whose sister’s friend worked for the Smarczyk enterprise, informed us that she heard Jeff and Julie’s wedding was going to be a sophisticated affair, attended by the wealthiest who’s who in the city.