by M.J. Kane
***
A few hours later, I returned from my parents’ house with a hamper full of freshly washed clothes and nearly half of my father’s apple pie. My mother swore Dad would be okay with sharing. Apparently, I was the only one who snagged pieces, which meant his waistline expanded while I was away. He hadn’t made it home before I left to confirm, so I took her word for it.
Visiting my mother yielded two things: a dinner invite for me and Ebony on Sunday and the knowledge my mother had spoken to Ebony nearly once a week while I was away.
Ebony never mentioned it. I wonder why?
Javan’s car was in the driveway when I returned home.
He wasn’t in the living room when I walked in carrying dinner and a fresh six-pack of beer. “Yo, Javan, where are you?” I set the meal down on the kitchen counter and roamed the house.
He wasn’t in his bedroom either, which meant one thing.
I walked into the weight room, formally known as the garage and storage space. “Hey, man.”
Javan lay on the bench, lifting weights as I walked in. He sat up, shirtless, with sweat pouring down his forehead and chest, his breath ragged.
He nodded in my direction but made no attempt to get up. “What’s up?” He appeared to have benched 175 pounds.
I’d done my fair share of weightlifting, but intense workouts were never my favorite thing to do. When we were roommates in college, the testosterone of being eighteen flooded our bodies and drove us to compete regularly. Weights, running, sit ups, women. You name it; we’d probably competed in it. We both experienced our fair share of losses and wins.
Eventually, I found other means to satisfy my need to show off. Joining the band and surfing became my outlets. My business took up the rest of my time. Unlike Javan, my father didn’t send me checks every month to support me.
His father was a well-known psychologist in Atlanta, Georgia. Once Javan graduated, his father gave him a Dodge Charger and pulled strings for him to get a job at a local practice.
Javan was used to getting what he wanted. The words, ‘no’ and ‘hard work’ were obscene in his vocabulary. To this day I couldn’t understand why we remained friends after college.
He wasn’t a bad guy. Yeah, he could be selfish, arrogant, egotistical, and at times, a straight pain in the ass. But when I needed him, he’d been there.
“You haven’t missed a day lifting weights.”
Javan flexed. “Gotta give the ladies what they want.” He eyed his biceps longer than necessary.
“Ladies? I heard you were down to one now.” I walked over to spot him when he lay down and gripped the barbell again.
“Yeah, well…we’ve gotten…kind of serious…since you’ve…been gone…” he paused to catch his breath. “A lot has changed.”
“You can say that again,” I muttered.
He did another set of presses, sat up, grabbed a towel, and wiped his face. “So, did you guys hook back up?”
“Oh, yeah.” I grinned at the memory. “I didn’t know I would miss her so much.”
He laughed. “Yeah, a good piece of ass is hard to forget.”
“Ebony is not a piece of ass, but you’re right, she’s hard to forget. If everything keeps going this good, I’m going to marry her.”
“Marry her? You’re seriously thinking of marrying a black woman? Have you met her family yet?”
I hooked my thumbs in the front pocket of my jeans. “No. I plan to spend the next couple of months getting to know everything about her, including her family. In December, I’ll take her home and meet them.” At least that was my plan. Ebony didn’t know a thing about it.
Javan snickered. “I’d love to be a fly on that wall.”
“I’m not worried. If…when I marry her, it will be Ebony who’s my wife, not her family. If they won’t support us, mine will.”
He grabbed a bottle of water, gulped, and watched me. “Have you wondered why she’s still with you? I mean, could dating you be an experiment? You know what I’m saying? What if you got all wrapped up and found out she really wants to go back to black?” His chest puffed out. “What if she used you as means to stay busy while waiting for her dream man? I’m sure her parents will have a lot to say about who she marries.” He gathered his towel and strolled back into the house. When he reached the door, he paused. “You might want to see if she cheated while you were gone.”
“What?” I stared at him.
“Think about it. You guys haven’t been together long. Then you leave her alone.” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t take much for a brother to,” he sucked his teeth and smirked, “pick her up and take care of where you left off. Yasmine mentioned she’d been acting weird lately. But don’t pay me any attention, what do I know?” He laughed as he walked off.
I stood rooted to the floor and watched his back disappear through the door.
My chest felt tight. Ebony cheating on me was the last thing I worried about. She didn’t waste time telling me if she didn’t want something. She’d made that clear the night we met.
She hadn’t shown any signs of wanting out of our relationship. Did I miss something? Could that be the reason why she’d changed? Was there someone else waiting in the wings for her to push me away?
Maybe spending time at the hotel had been too much. Maybe her intention had been to break up with me, face-to-face, but I messed up the plan by surprising her with a romantic weekend.
Damn. I didn’t know what to think.
We needed to talk. We were in my bed the first time we made love. It was there we’d promised to be together when I returned. Maybe when I got her there again, in my arms and in my bed, she’d be ready to tell me what was really going on.